Harry Potter and the God of Death
by Nesarna
Summary: Getting recruited for another war wasn't quite what he had in mind when his father announced a family trip to England. But now that he's here, Kurosaki Ichigo finds himself pulled into a web of deception, government lies, and centuries-old conspiracies... [still alive, slowly undergoing revisions]
1. Enter the Black Sun

_Greetings to you all._

_My name is Nesarna. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a newbie here - I've been lurking on the site for ages, but I've never actually posted anything before now. Forgive me my errors wherever you should find them, but please tell me so that they can be rectified. _

_I use a number of different formats to indicate different types of speech that vary by context. If you are confused, please reference the following:_

"Hello"_ - indicates that the speaker is using the most common language for the area they are in. It will indicate English when in England, Japanese when in Japan, or even !Kung when in Namibia._

"(Hello)" _- indicates that the speaker is not using the most common language for the area they are in. The language it represents will not always be indicated, and is usually determined by the speaker's own nationality. Other characters do not necessarily understand the speaker when this is used._

_And now that that's out of the way, please enjoy the story - or don't, it's up to you. Love it, don't care for it, or think it should burn in hell, let me know. The little button at the bottom of the page is quite useful in that endeavor, or so I've been told._

___Much love,  
Nesarna_

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_**DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes.**_

_**IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine.**_

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_**EDIT (12/30/10): WARNING: Partial AU from Bleach. Non-compliant with post-'Deicide' canon.**_

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Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the First

-0-

Vernon Dursley was not known as a very patient man. A rather large man with a thick neck and bushy moustache, Vernon's face was more often seen in various shades of purple rather than pink, but even so, he quite enjoyed the quiet moments of the day. His early morning cup of coffee, for instance, which was one of the few things he actually bothered to make himself (Petunia preferred tea, and he would never trust the Potter boy with something as sacred as the coffee pot). So every day, Vernon Dursley got up early, dressed for work, made his coffee (imported from Brazil – cream and sugar only) and read the morning's paper. By the time the Potter boy had stumbled down the stairs and started frying the bacon and his wife and son had sat around the table, sipping orange juice, Vernon Dursley was generally in a good mood. For him, anyway.

The day had started out as normal. Vernon had come downstairs, started up the coffee pot, and headed out into the hall to retrieve the daily mail. Everything had been perfectly ordinary and as usual, until he had found The Letter.

As far as letters went, The Letter was hardly the worst one the Dursleys had ever received. The worst had definitely been the Potter boy's Hogwarts letter(s), followed closely by that one from his friend (Vernon still wondered how the freak could have friends in the first place, but no matter) that had arrived last year. But there it was, tucked neatly between the credit card bill and one of those home and garden magazines Petunia liked, covered in nearly as many stamps as the one from the year before, the one that had started the series of events that had resulted in the destruction of half his sitting room and Dudley choking on his own tongue.

Vernon eyed The Letter warily. He seriously hoped it was not another one from the boy's friend, but judging by how neat and ordered the stamps were (last year, they had been haphazardly and wildly stuck on), probably not. Not unless the freaks had learned to behave normally over the past year – which was highly unlikely, in his opinion. He couldn't read the return address at all – it was written in a series of complex symbols he could make neither heads or tails of. Chinese or Japanese, maybe? At first he thought there must have been a mistake at the postal office – who did _they_ know in China? – but a quick glance at the address printed neatly on the envelope left no doubt about the letter's intended recipient: _Petunia Dursley, Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_.

Oh yes, definitely the right place.

He made his way back to the kitchen just as the Potter boy made his way downstairs, looking – in Vernon's humble opinion – even scruffier than normal.

"Comb your hair, boy," Vernon snapped, by way of a morning greeting. The boy nodded distractedly and turned on the stovetop burners, pulling out the frying pan. Vernon ignored him, instead opting to pour his cup of coffee, settle down at the small kitchen table, and open the paper. He was halfway through the classifieds when Petunia entered the kitchen, still in her bathrobe and hair curlers.

"Petunia, dear," Vernon began, laying aside the paper, "Do you happen to know anyone in China?"

Petunia blinked. "No, not that I'm aware of… Why?"

"This arrived in the mail this morning," he said, indicating The Letter. "Addressed to you. The return address is all funny…"

She picked up the envelope, turning it around in her hand. A flicker of recognition crossed her face. "Oh, it must be from my cousin in Japan. You remember her, don't you, Vernon? She and her husband – Koo-row-something, I think it was – visited us when they were in London together."

Vernon grimaced. "That man? That crazy nutter who hauled us all the way up to the top of that bloody cathedral?"

"Yes, that was him. But I don't understand why they'd be writing us now," she added, slitting the letter open with a butter knife. "I mean, the last time we heard from them was several years ago, when Masaki died…"

As she read, her face paled dramatically. She set the letter down and took several gulps of her tea, the cup in her hand shaking slightly.

"What is it, Petunia?" Vernon asked. She slid him the letter across the table. Vernon's face, in contrast to his wife's, purpled as he read farther down the page.

'_My dearest Petunia—_

'_Greetings, cousin of my beloved Masaki! It is I, Isshin Kurosaki. We met when Masaki-chan and I visited Europe for our honeymoon, remember? Of course you do, who could forget such a beautiful couple as ourselves!_

'_As I'm sure you remember, I run a clinic here in Karakura. Well, it just so happens that I've been invited to a medical conference in London in the place of a friend (Ishida-kun really needs to get out more often if you ask me), and I thought this would be the perfect time for a family get together! Karin-chan and Yuzu-chan are very excited to meet you both, and I'm sure Ichigo will be thrilled as well once he gets home._

'_The plane arrives in London on the second of August (gomen ne, it was the only flight available on such short notice), and the conference begins on the fifth. Unfortunately, the hotel won't allow us to check in until the conference begins… I do hope you have an extra bed handy. If not, I'm sure we can find a cheap motel somewhere… Ah well, I'm certain that won't be a problem anyway! We'll take a taxi to your home (I doubt Ichigo will mind too much if I dig into his salary a bit – Ukitake-san pays him well), so I expect we will arrive there around noon. You still live at Number Four, right? You must, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this!_

'_Oh, here comes Ichigo. Time to go tell him the good news!_

'_Ja ne!_

'_Isshin Kurosaki'_

A vein bulged in his temple. The nerve of the man! Just inviting himself on over into their household with hardly any forewarning at all… He glanced at the wall calendar, hanging haphazardly from the refrigerator containing all of Dudley's snack foods. Isshin and his family would arrive on the second, which was…

_Today_.

"Petunia," he said, forcing himself to remain calm, "What are we going to do?"

"We'll have to let them stay, of course," she replied softly. "Isshin and the girls can take the guest room, there's enough room in there for the air mattress, and their son can take Dudley's second bedroom – Harry can sleep on the sofa, I suppose…"

"But Petunia… How can we—"

"Don't be silly, Vernon," she snapped. "What will the neighbors think? We can't possibly abandon _family_ on the streets, not when they've come so far to visit. No, they'll have to stay here." She paused to gather her thoughts. "All right. Boy!" she called, shooting a look in Harry's direction. "You're going to help me get ready. Go outside and mow the lawn, that'll be your main task. Then come back inside, I'll have a list of other tasks for you to complete. Understood?"

Harry, who had frozen at the first mention of the word 'cousin,' snapped out of his reverie. "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"Good. Now get a move on, there's not much time. And throw away that bacon, you've gone and let it burn, you foolish boy."

Nodding mutely, Harry dumped the pan of ruined breakfast meat in the rubbish bin and headed out the door. As he pulled the lawnmower out the shed, his mind wandered back to the conversation he had overheard at breakfast.

_I have relatives?_ he thought, tugging fruitlessly at the lever that started the mower. _Outside the Dursleys? How?_ He and Hermione – mostly Hermione – had gone digging through the old Hogwarts records, looking for any other family members Harry might have had, back at the end of third year. None of the Potters were still alive, so it couldn't be through them. So that would mean…

_They're related to my mother,_ he realized. They had to be, nothing else made sense, what with the Potters all dead and his other Dursley relatives living in Australia (he had never met them, but he knew they existed through their annual Christmas cards) – except for Aunt Marge, but she'd had no children of her own. Just her dogs, which he didn't think counted.

It was odd, Harry thought, as the lawnmower finally clanked into life, how little he actually knew about his mother's family. He could understand that Petunia had hated Lily – Merlin knew she made little secret of that – but he didn't know what kept her away from the rest of her family. Had she severed ties with her parents when they had begun to favor their magically-talented child? Were they even still alive? They'd never sent the Dursley family Christmas cards, so he supposed not. But what about her other relatives? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins? Why sever relations with them as well? They'd probably not known about Lily's powers, so they'd have no reason to pick her over Petunia… or were they all dead, too?

_Maybe,_ thought Harry. _Aunt Petunia said she'd heard her cousin died… what was her name? Ma-sa-kee? But then, why would Ma-sa-kee's family visit us now?_

His musings were interrupted by another thought. _Wait a moment… If I have relatives outside of the Dursleys, why did Dumbledore leave me with them? Did he just not know about them? Or… is there another reason? It can't be because they're magic-haters; he left me with the Dursleys, and they hate magic enough to make up for the whole of Britain. So then why…?_

Harry rounded another corner of the yard. The whole thing made absolutely no sense at all. Dumbledore _had_ to have known about Ma-sa-kee and her family – Dumbledore was _Dumbledore_. He had to have known simply by virtue of being himself. He must have had _some_ reason for leaving Harry with the Dursleys, and not with his other relatives. But at the same time… what could it possibly be? It sounded an awful lot like Ma-sa-kee's family lived in Japan; surely, he would have been safe from leftover Death Eaters on the other side of the globe, wouldn't he? Maybe there was some other reason. There was _always_ a reason for why Dumbledore did what he did, even if it never made any sense to Harry.

Like his current isolation, for instance.

But, try as Harry might, he could not figure it out, even as he returned the lawnmower to the shed, the lawn neatly trimmed behind him.

_Well,_ he thought, _at least I know one thing: dinner tonight is going to be a very… interesting… affair._

-0-

Harry flopped down on his bed like a ragdoll, utterly exhausted. He'd spent the better part of the last several hours washing Uncle Vernon's company car, cleaning the windows, vacuuming the carpeting and various other odd jobs his aunt had assigned him on her laundry list of tasks. He sent a tired glance at his alarm clock, which read 11:43 A.M. in large, glowing red letters. He had less than twenty minutes until Isshin and his children arrived on the doorstep. With a defeated groan, he sat up and started picking up the scattered pieces of Wizarding equipment that littered his room. The eldest son – Itchy-go, or something like that – was supposed to be rooming there. Which meant Aunt Petunia was particularly adamant about hiding the numerous signs of Harry's 'abnormality' that filled the room.

Finally fishing _Flying with the Cannons_ out from under his bed, Harry stuffed it into his trunk and stood up, surveying his room. Ron's and Hermione's birthday cards – which he'd received the day earlier – had been unceremoniously shoved to the bottom of his trunk (he was still upset over their adamant refusal to tell him anything useful), followed quickly by assorted robes, schoolbooks, and scraps of parchment, quills, and ink, as well as several old copies of the_ Daily Prophet_. The only odd 'thing' left out in his room was Hedwig.

He spared another glance at the clock; it read 11:58, barely enough time to get downstairs before Isshin and his family were due to arrive. There wasn't time to get Hedwig out of there; he'd have to come and let her out sometime that evening. As if on cue, Vernon's voice boomed up the stairs.

"Get down here, boy! And make it quick, they're supposed to arrive any minute!"

Not wanting to make his uncle any more irritated than he already was, Harry scrambled down the stairs. His aunt and uncle were both dressed in their finest and hovering around the front hall, evidently wanting to make a good impression on their visiting in-laws. Dudley, however, was sulking in the living room, watching a program on the television. He too had been forced into a nice shirt and pants, and was none-too-happy for it.

"Can't you do something about your clothes?" Aunt Petunia asked irritably. "Don't wait around here – wait by the stairs. Take their bags upstairs when they arrive. Just stay out of the way."

"Fine," muttered Harry. "Where do you—"

The crunch of tires on gravel interrupted him, followed quickly by the sound of car doors opening. A male's voice could be heard through the open windows in the kitchen, shouting angrily in some unintelligible language, followed by another voice, this one female. A moment later the crunch of gravel was heard again, as the taxi pulled out of the driveway.

"Quick!" Petunia called, rushing over to the front door, Harry scrambling out of her way. "Dudley! Oh, Vernon, what—"

The doorbell rang.

Hurriedly composing herself, Aunt Petunia put on her best smile and pulled open the door, coming face-to-face with a slightly disheveled, middle-aged man wearing an oversized, tropical-flower-printed shirt.

"PETUNIA**-**ITOKO-CHAN!" he shouted, dropping his bags at once and wrapping her in a bear hug. "IT'S SO NICE TO SEE—"

"URUSAI!" A bulging briefcase bashed into the man's head, knocking him over. It, in turn, was held in the hand of a scowling teenage boy, perhaps a year or two older than Dudley, with the brightest orange hair the Dursleys had ever laid eyes on. Behind him were two women in their mid-twenties, one with dark hair and the other with light hair and the head of a toy lion poking out of her purse. The light-haired one bent hastily to examine the father, and, finding him healthy (if unconscious), rounded on the boy.

"Onii-chan, you didn't have to go and hit him that hard! He could have hit his head on the sidewalk!"

The boy shrugged, completely unconcerned. "Che… he'll live."

As the blonde's eyes watered, her sister shook her head. She smiled at the Dursleys. "Gomen ne… I'm Karin Kurosaki, and these are my sister Yuzu and my brother Ichigo… Hajimemashite," she added, bowing politely. "May we come in?"

"Certainly, certainly," flustered Aunt Petunia, hastily moving aside to let Karin and her siblings through. She and her sister both grabbed suitcases, and Ichigo, shouldering both the briefcase and a large sports bag, hefted their father onto his back. "My name is Petunia. My husband and son are both inside, waiting to meet you."

"Arigatou," said Karin, dragging the heavy suitcase over the threshold and into the house, Yuzu close behind.

The blonde smiled appreciatively. "You have a very nice house, Dursley-obasan."

"Where do you want the bags?" Ichigo grunted, trying to find a comfortable position under his father's weight.

"Just go ahead and leave them by the stairs, Harry will be down to get them in a minute," she answered.

"Harry?" asked Yuzu interestedly. "Who is he?"

"Er… just our nephew," Petunia replied, leading the siblings and their unconscious father into the lounge, where the rest of the Dursley household (minus Harry) was waiting. "He doesn't like strangers much, so he stays upstairs most of the time."

They entered the lounge, a rather large space, occupied almost entirely by several large, overstuffed armchairs. Vernon rose to meet them, eyeing the unconscious body of Isshin warily. He found it rather unnerving, to say the least.

"Vernon Dursley," he said, gathering himself and offering his hand to the boy.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," the boy grunted, shifting the weight on his back. Disregarding Vernon's proffered hand, he gazed around the room. He spotted the sofa, with Dudley still sitting on it. He walked over, standing hardly a foot away from Dudley, who hardly appeared to have noticed him at all.

"Our son, Dudley," Vernon said. "He's quite the athlete, you know. Won the junior heavyweight boxing tournament just last year, he did. A proud accomplishment, considering he only—"

Ichigo ignored him. "Move," he said, gesturing for Dudley to get out of the way. Dudley stayed put, completely engrossed in his program. Ichigo tried again, with a similar result. He gritted his teeth, evidently doing his best not to attack the fat teenager.

"I said, _move_, fat-ass," he hissed, his voice taking on a strange distorted quality. This time, Dudley shot out of his seat as though someone had lit a fire beneath him. He ran, utterly terrified, into the kitchen, no doubt to try and find solace in his snacks. Karin and Yuzu both paled at Ichigo's tone, shooting each other significant glances.

Supremely unconcerned with Dudley's behavior, Ichigo lowered Isshin's unconscious form onto the newly-vacated sofa, his scowl deepening. "Wake up, teme," he said, shaking him roughly.

Isshin didn't stir.

"Should I call a doctor?" Petunia asked nervously.

Ichigo didn't respond, instead leaning in closer to his father's ear. "OI! ISSHIN!" he shouted. "GET UP! YACHIRU AND NEL FOUND THE CANDY SUPPLY! RUN FOR IT!"

Still no motion.

Ichigo frowned. "Fine, be that way." His face took on a mischievous smirk. "If you're that injured, go ahead and sleep," he said gently. "I'll go ahead and call Unohana-san, just in case it's something serious, alright?"

The effect was instantaneous. Isshin jumped off the sofa, looking around wildly. "Ah! Retsu – er, Unohana-taichou! There's no need – I'm perfectly—!" He stopped abruptly at the smirk on Ichigo's face. "That wasn't very nice, Ichigo," he muttered.

Ichigo didn't respond to that, instead standing up and heading out back towards the suitcases. In the doorway, he knocked over a smaller, dark-haired boy with round glasses. He barely glanced at him, instead muttering a brief apology, before going into the hall, grabbing the battered leather briefcase, and heading off in search of the kitchen.

Harry straightened his glasses as his got up off the floor, staring bemusedly in the direction the redhead had gone. "Er… what was that?" he asked, completely bewildered.

"Ano… you'll have to forgive him," Karin muttered, shooting a concerned glance in the direction Ichigo had gone before turning to smile awkwardly at the Dursleys. "Ichi-nii does that a lot these days… he just… he's under a lot of stress from work, is all."

"Must be a hard job," Vernon said thoughtfully. "What exactly does he do?"

Karin shot her father a helpless look, and he answered hastily, "He works for the… ano… police department! Yes, that's it!" he exclaimed happily. "The police department in Karakura Town. He… ano… does a lot of the department's paperwork. You know, filling out employee request forms and such. He doesn't like it much, but no one else in the department will do it, so…"

Dudley came back out into the living room, looking even more harried. "Er… he's in the kitchen," he offered, by way of an explanation. "I'm, er, going out," he added. "Piers' having tea… Doubt I'll be back 'til dinner, so…"

"Why don't you take your cousin Ichigo with you?" Vernon suggested amiably. "I'm sure he would enjoy meeting such fine, upstanding young gentlemen as your friends."

Dudley paled considerably. "Er, no, I don't think that would be a good idea… I mean, he was pretty busy when I saw him in the kitchen, so…"

Vernon nodded. "All right then. Go on, Dudley. Have fun, and be back by dinner time."

"Okay," he muttered, edging past Petunia in the hall and out the doorway and down the street.

A slightly uncomfortable silence filled the living room. Harry had just opened his mouth to announce that he, too, was going to head out, when a loud shout echoed from the kitchen, followed by a number of incomprehensible words that, judging from the harsh tone, were rather unpleasant.

"(CHIKUSHOU! DAMMIT, GRIMMJOW! CAN'T YOU GO ONE DAMN WEEK WITHOUT BLOWING UP HALF THE SEIREITEI? THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME THIS MONTH!)"

Isshin, Karin, and Yuzu all flinched. "Ano… bad news," Karin explained, looking nervous. "Probably not the best time to try and talk to him right now…"

The rest all nodded solemnly, silently agreeing.

-0-

By the time seven o' clock rolled around, Ichigo had nearly finished with his mountain of paperwork (when Aunt Petunia had ventured into the kitchen around five to fetch a cup of tea, she had barely been able to see the top of his head over the stacks of files; how so much paper could fit into such a small briefcase, she had no idea), Karin and Yuzu had played several rounds of _Super Alien Blasters_ on Dudley's PlayStation (Karin won the vast majority, though Yuzu pulled out a few unlikely victories), and Isshin and the two elder Dursleys had settled down to watch the evening news. Harry had disappeared around three, claiming a desire for fresh air. The Dursleys didn't seem to mind all that much, and had let him go without complaint.

Ichigo finished signing the last of his papers (a request for an extension of leave from Koga, which he was only too happy to grant), feeling more tired than he had in days. He rose, stretching, and wandered into the lounge, where Karin had just beat Yuzu for the sixteenth time in a row.

"Ha!" she shouted, maneuvering her spaceship up to the equally-pixelated alien mothership and firing a red laser in its direction. The words PLAYER ONE WINS flashed across the screen, followed by her score. "(Beat that, Yuzu!)" she cried happily.

"(Be nice to your sister, Karin,)" Ichigo mumbled, flopping down on the vacant sofa.

"(Oh, hi Ichi-nii,)" Karin said, putting the game on pause. "(You finally done with your paperwork, then?)"

"(Aa.)"

"(Ne, Onii-chan…)" Yuzu hesitated before asking, "(What were you yelling about earlier?)"

He sighed. "(Just the usual. Grimmjow got mad, went on a rampage. Wrecked nearly half of the Ninth's compound, judging by the price tag.)"

Both girls winced. "(Bet Abarai-san's not too happy about that,)" muttered Karin.

Ichigo snorted in derision. "(Eh, he probably deserves it. He's probably the one who set Grimmjow off in the first place.)"

They all got a small laugh out of that.

"(Hey, where's Tou-san?)" Ichigo asked suddenly.

"(Oyaji? I think he's in the other room with Dursely-ojisan and Dursley-obasan.)"

"(Arigatou,)" he said, rising off the sofa with a grimace. He went into the sitting room, where a story about some actress' affair had just finished.

"And finally, Bungy the budgie has found a novel way of keeping cool this summer. Bungy, who lives at the Five Feathers in Barnsley, has learned to water-ski! Mary Dorkins went to find out more…"

"Oi, teme," Ichigo called. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Isshin rose out of his seat, nodded briefly in the direction of the two elder Dursleys, and followed Ichigo into the hall. "(What is it?)"

"(I need some help opening a Senkaimon,)" Ichigo admitted, looking embarrassed. "(Ukitake-san wants everything in by Friday, and I can't open it by myself…)"

"(I see,)" said Isshin, scratching his chin. "(Sure, I can open it for you, no trouble. But why don't you just route it through Las Noches, like you usually do? Isn't Aizen's old gate there still active?)"

"(Can't,)" his son replied agitatedly. "(Not without going through the Elders. Nothing goes in or out of Hueco Mundo these days without their say-so. And opening an illegal Garganta—)"

_CRACK!_

"(—What was that?)"

"(I don't know,)" Isshin said, poking his head back into the sitting room. "Ne, Petunia-itoko-chan, do you know what…" He paused, rather confused. Harry, his odd nephew-in-law, stood outside in the flowerbed, looking rather disheveled. The boy hastily stuffed something long and thin into his back pocket, staring down the street critically. Vernon's arms dropped from where he had been nearly about to strangle the boy, eyeing Isshin warily.

"Yes?" Petunia asked, composing herself quickly.

"Ano, just wondering if you knew what made that noise a moment ago," Isshin said, smiling.

"Car backfired," growled Vernon, shooting his nephew a dirty look. Harry ignored him, still glaring at the street outside.

"Oh." Isshin pulled his head back into the hall and gave his son a reassuring smile. "(It's nothing. False alarm.)"

Ichigo nodded. "(When would be a good time to open the gate? Tonight?)"

"(That would be best. We can do it in my room, have Karin and Yuzu keep an eye out in case anyone wakes up. Kami knows what Petunia-itoko-chan and her husband would say to a trans-dimensional portal in their sitting room.)"

"(Right,)" Ichigo said, suppressing a yawn.

"(Are you alright?)" his father asked, sounding concerned. "(Did you sleep at all on the plane?)"

"(Uh… maybe?)"

"(What the hell were you thinking? Ichigo, it's a nine hour time difference!)"

His son shrugged. "(I've gone longer…)"

"(Not in your _body_, you haven't. Honestly, there's a reason humans need little things like _sleep_ and _food_!)" He shook his head wearily. "(Get some sleep, Ichigo,)" he said, forcibly shoving his son in the direction of the lounge.

"(Don't I technically outrank you?)" Ichigo wondered briefly, but allowed himself to be pushed onto the sofa.

"(Ha ha, very funny, _Kurosaki_-_taichou_. This is an order from your physician. _Sleep_.)"

Ichigo nodded, too tired to actually protest.

"(And don't even _think_ about getting up again once I've left. _Stay put_. Doctor's orders.)"

-0-

"(Oi, Ichi-nii. Wake up.)"

Ichigo stirred slightly, then rolled over. He didn't appreciate the interruption. He'd been having a very nice dream… He'd finally cornered Grimmjow and forced the former Espada into completing the entirety of the division's monthly paperwork. Childish, perhaps, but a pleasant thought nonetheless.

"(Ichi-nii! ICHI-NII!)"

He fell off the sofa with an almighty crash, coughing and hacking violently. "(What the hell was that for?)" he shouted, shaking ice water out of his hair.

Karin just smiled innocently, hiding the recently-emptied glass behind her back. "(Dinner's ready in a few minutes.)"

Still scowling, Ichigo followed his sister into the dining room, where Isshin and Vernon were already seated, discussing the news – economics and foreign policy, by the sound of it.

Petunia peered out of the kitchen, wearing an apron and stirring a large bowl. "Diddy still not back yet?" she asked her husband, sounding concerned. He shook his head. She sighed. "Where could he be? He should have left the Polkiss' by now… And he never misses his din-din…"

"I'm sure he's on his way, Petunia," Vernon reassured her.

"All the same… Could I ask one of you to go look for him?" she asked, looking at the two siblings in the doorway. "I'm getting rather worried…"

Ichigo shrugged. "Sure. Whatever." He made his way over to the front door, stepping out into the cool night air. He paused on the doorstep, concentrating. Long, semi-transparent threads materialized in the air, fluttering and waving on the slight breeze. Most of them were stark white, with a handful of reddish-pink ones thrown in for flavor. He sifted through them, dismissing the pinkish ones as belonging to his father and sisters inside. With a triumphant smirk, he grabbed hold of one and headed off down the street towards his cousin.

He walked for a good twenty or so minutes, following the string. The difficulty with reiraku, he realized, was that they very rarely led directly to their owner. Like real threads, they tended to leave a trail behind, remaining in one place long after the person had left. Furthermore, reiraku length was proportional to the amount of time the owner had left to live. As Dudley was still rather young, his thread trailed over half of Little Whinging.

Ichigo was at the moment very grateful he had learned how to use shunpo while in his body. Otherwise, the search might have taken _hours_.

He finally found him in a narrow alley between two roads – Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk, if he remembered rightly – accompanied by the boy he had knocked over earlier. His other cousin. Har-something? He heard them before he saw them. Perched rather precariously on a nearby roof, he peered down into the alleyway. Ichigo frowned slightly. Harry had odd reiatsu – it was slightly stronger than that of the average human, but it wasn't like normal human, Quincy, Shinigami, or Hollow reiatsu, or even an odd unclassifiable-type like Inoue's. The boy had Dudley pinned against a garage wall with something long and thin – in the darkness, Ichigo couldn't tell what it was.

"Don't ever talk about that again," Harry growled, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Do you understand me?"

Dudley ignored him. "Point that thing somewhere else!"

"_Do you understand me_?"

"_Point it somewhere else_!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM—"

Ichigo had had enough. He dropped down into the alleyway, landing catlike next to the two boys. In a flash, he grabbed Harry's wrists and twisted them behind the boy's back, the object in his hand – a stick, Ichigo now realized – falling to the ground with a clatter.

"What the hell are you two doing?"

-0-

Harry was angry. First he had been roped into doing _half_ the household chores, then he had been _knocked_ _over_ (by the same boy that was now holding him prisoner), then he'd had to sit in the _flowerbed_ in order to even _listen_ to the _news_, then he'd been accused of setting off that noise (which he _hadn't_), and then he'd been chased away from the house and had Dudley bring up those awful memories of Cedric. And that was without _mentioning_ the fact that Dumbledore had apparently _abandoned _him to the dubious mercies of Privet Drive for the past month.

And now he was being held captive, arms twisted painfully behind his back.

Scratch that. Harry was _pissed_.

"Let go of me!" he hissed, struggling against his captor's grip. "Let go!"

Ichigo opened his mouth to retort, then froze. He looked around, searching frantically. "Kore wa… reiatsu…" he whispered, eyes wide.

Harry struggled out of his suddenly lax grip and shot him a confused look. "What are you…?"

And then he felt it. A deep, penetrating, biting cold. The streetlamps at either end of the alleyway flickered and then died, plunging them into darkness. He could already hear the laughter, faint and far away, but drawing closer every minute…

Then he heard it. The sound of a death rattle.

_It's here._

"SHIT!" He dropped on his hands and knees, searching frantically for his wand. "Not here… not now…"

Dudley panicked and ran, full tilt towards the end of the alleyway. Ichigo fell to the ground, clutching his head and convulsing wildly. "_Sore wo korose_!" he shouted, his voice strange and distorted, as though speaking under water. "_Korose_! _Korose, korose_!"

Harry swore. "DUDLEY! GET BACK HERE! YOU'RE RUNNING _RIGHT AT IT_! Wand… need wand… where's…" he muttered, fingers scrabbling over the dead grass of the alley.

The cold was at the other end of the alley, now, too.

A loud thump came from the far end of the alley, followed by a muffled shout. "DUDLEY! WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T OPEN YOUR MOUTH!" The sound of Voldemort's laughter in his head got louder, rising in chorus with Dudley's screams. "DUDLEY!"

"_KOROSE_!"

Something flashed blue behind him, accompanied by a high-pitched, inhuman shriek that sent shivers down Harry's spine. Ichigo stopped thrashing, and fell still and silent. Harry was the only one left.

"No!"

But the brief flash provided him with enough light to finally find his wand. He snatched at it, pulling up bits of dirt and dead grass. He had to cast the spell, before Dudley and Ichigo… He didn't want to think about it. He _refused_ to think about it.

The cold was getting nearer now. He could hear the voice clearly, the voice that had haunted his dreams for the past month.

_Bow death, Harry… It might even be painless… I would not know… I have never died…_

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!"

An enormous silver stag erupted from his wand, filling the dark alleyway with light. The stag bounded toward the nearest dementor, past an unfamiliar figure dressed in white and black, catching it in its antlers. The dementor flew through the air and vanished into the night.

Harry turned towards the far end. The silvery light illuminated the shape of the other dementor, its hood already lowered, its head moving slowly, lovingly, towards Dudley's face.

"GET IT!" he shouted, and the stag whirled around and charged. But even as fast as Harry's Patronus was going… it might not make it in time. Harry threw his power into the spell, willing the stag to move faster, but—

The dementor's face was barely an inch from Dudley's.

"NO—!"

"_GETSUGA TENSHOU_!"

A wave of blackish, reddish light arced over Harry's head, ruffling his hair as it passed. The dementor howled in pain. With an angry screech it flew off into the sky, only to fall back to the ground when something red and sizzling flashed through the air.

"Oikakero!"

A second white and black blur flew after the first dementor, vanishing with a dull _thump_, like distant thunder.

The stars and streetlamps flickered back into existence, and warmth flooded into the alley. Harry paid no attention to this, though, instead rushing over to where Dudley had fallen.

"Dudley… Dudley… come on, get up…"

He heard the sound of crunching grass and gravel behind him, and whipped around to face the newcomer, wand out, only to find himself face-to-face with an enormous black and white sword, the tip of it barely an inch from his nose, held in the hand of a person with a _very_ familiar face.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?"

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_-chan: an honorific indicating endearment/affection; used primarily towards small children/girls_

_-kun: an honorific indicating familiarity; used primarily towards men/boys_

_gomen/gomen ne: sorry_

_-san: an honorific indicating respect; roughly equivalent to 'Mr.' or 'Ms.'_

_ja ne: bye, see you later, etc._

_itoko: cousin_

_urusai: shut up, be quiet, etc. (lit. noisy, loud)_

_onii-/-nii: brother_

_che: an interjection_

_hajimemashite: it's nice to meet you_

_arigatou: thanks, thank you, etc._

_oba-: aunt_

_teme: a rude way of saying 'you'_

_oi/ne: hey ('oi' is less formal/polite than 'ne')_

_-taichou: captain (lit. unit commander)_

_ano: a placeholder, similar to 'uh...', 'um...', 'er...' etc._

_chikushou: an expletive; approximately as rude as 'damn'_

_aa: yeah (a weak positive)_

_tou-: father (shortened form of 'otou-')_

_oyaji: dad, old man (less respectful than 'otou-')_

_kore: a pronoun; indicates 'this'_

_o/wo: has no equivalent in English; indicates something (usually whatever follows it) is the direct object of a phrase (the thing upon which action is done [ex. I bought a book])_

_sore: a pronoun; indicates 'it' or 'that'_

_korose: imperative of the verb 'korose,' to kill_

_oikakero: imperative of the verb 'oikakeru,' to chase, pursue, etc._

* * *

_Well, that's it for chapter one. I will probably post the next two chapters some time over the course of the week._

_Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_'Til next time,  
Nesarna  
10/3/10_


	2. That Which Is Unknown

**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes._**

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine._**

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Second

-0-

Harry blinked. "You… you're Ichigo, right?" It certainly _seemed_ like his visiting cousin, but he looked different. Older, perhaps. Definitely stronger. Or maybe it had something more to do with the black robe, white coat, and giant _five foot sword_ currently tickling the bridge of his nose. Harry's eyes flickered back and forth between the Ichigo standing in front of him and the other one lying curled up on its side, wearing normal clothes. The other Ichigo – the one menacing him with a sword – stepped casually over his own lifeless form, completely unconcerned.

"What…"

The blade inched closer. "I asked you a question. Answer me, dammit! What the hell was that thing?"

"A dementor," Harry said warily.

"What do they do to you?"

"They…" Harry swallowed nervously. "Dementors suck all the happiness out of you. Make it so you can't remember any happy memories, just the bad ones. And given half a chance, they'll kiss you," he added, gesturing at Dudley's prone form. "Suck out the soul of their victims."

The sword froze, quivering. "What… what did you… they _eat_ souls? But… that thing wasn't…" Ichigo looked back and forth between him and Dudley, an expression of ill-disguised horror and confusion on his face. "That's not possible… I'd _know_ if… Are you certain?"

Harry nodded, and the blade dropped. He released a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. "Look, what—"

"Later," Ichigo said, pulling a cell phone out of his robes and rapidly punching in numbers. "Pick him up," he added, gesturing with the sword at Dudley's body. Harry stayed rooted to the spot.

"We need to get back to your aunt and uncles house as soon as possible… (Ririn!… Yes, that was… No, he's off chasing the damn thing. Put Ulquiorra on… Because this is important, dammit!… Ulquiorra. I need you to go find some information for me… You're looking for a creature called a 'dementor'… D-E-M-E-N-T-O-R. Yes… Find Grimmjow. I want him and Nel to find Kurotsuchi… Check with R & D. Get Nemu-san to help, she likes the kid… Good. Call back as soon as you have anything. Put Ririn back on… Ririn. Track down Koga and Ran Tao; he's been around long enough, he might know something. And send somebody to contact Urahara as soon as… Good. Keep me posted.)"

He snapped the phone shut, turning to glare at Harry, who still hadn't moved. "What? Hurry up and take him, we need to—"

The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps interrupted him. Harry spun around and raised his wand to face the newcomer. Ichigo grabbed his wrist.

"Don't say anything about me," he whispered. "I'll explain later, but for now you need to get home as fast as possible."

And he vanished in another flash of blue light.

Barely a second later, Mrs. Figg came tottering around the corner, hair in disarray and bag of cat food clanking from her arm.

"Oh, Harry, thank goodness you're alright, I – what are you doing, boy?" she snapped when he tried to stuff his wand behind his back. "Keep your wand out, what if there are more of them?" She wrung her hands, glancing up and down the alleyway frantically. "Dementors, here! In Little Whinging. Oh, the Ministry's going to have a field day with this. I am going to _kill_ Mungungus Fletcher!"

"Er – you – Mrs. Figg? You – _what_?" Harry spluttered, completely bewildered.

"He up and left!" she shouted. "I _told_ him not to go, but he wouldn't listen! _Insisted_ on going to pick up a load of dodgy cauldrons! _Cauldrons_! When he knew perfectly well that I couldn't very well do anything to help you if something happened, and now it _has—_!"

"Wait – this bloke, this Mundungus person has been following me? Wait a moment – _he_ was the one who Disapparated from the front of my house!"

"Yes, yes, that was him, the idiot. Luckily I'd stationed Mr. Tibbles under the car just in case, but – but we haven't got time to be standing around, Harry!" she said anxiously. "We've got to get you back to your aunt and uncle's house before—!"

With a slight groan, the normal-looking Ichigo sat up, massaging his head. "Itai… _got_ to be more careful how I land this thing…"

Mrs. Figg whirled around, bag of cat food raised menacingly. "You!" she shrieked. "Who are you? What are you doing on the ground? Get up, get up!"

Ichigo ducked under the swinging bag. "Maa maa… Ano… I'm Potter's cousin Ichigo. Dursley-obasan asked me to go find him and Dudley, 'cause it was getting late…" He scowled and dodged again. "Stop that! Anyway, I found them in this alley, and then the… the things in cloaks showed up."

"Dementors," Mrs. Figg supplied, stooping to pick up one of Dudley's massive arms. "They're called dementors." She tugged fruitlessly. "Get up, you fat useless lump, _get_ _up_!"

Ichigo stood shakily. "I'll get him." He pulled one of the boy's arms over his shoulder and heaved. "Kami… go on a diet or something," he muttered, elbowing Dudley in the ribs. "You've got to weigh more that Oumaeda…"

"Let me do it," Harry said, but Ichigo shook his head.

"Iie, I will. That stick," he explained, nodding in the direction of Harry's wand, "Is the only thing I know of that can hurt those dementor creatures. You need to be able to defend us if they show up again."

He turned and followed Mrs. Figg out of the alleyway and onto Wisteria Walk.

"Keep your wand out, Harry," the old lady instructed him as they entered the street. "Don't I keep telling you, I'm of no use if they come back? When the Ministry gets wind of this—"

"But the dementors – I had to do magic! Surely, they'll be more worried about _them_ than the Statute of Secrecy?"

"I wish that were the case, but – MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Another _CRACK _echoed through the street, and a short, unshaven man appeared in front of Harry and Mrs. Figg.

"'S' up, Figgy?" he asked, glancing from her to Harry to Ichigo and Dudley. "Who's 'at? Whatever 'appened to staying undercover?"

"Forget about _undercover_!" she shrieked. "Dementors, you useless thief!"

"Dementors?" he repeated slowly, not quite able to believe what she was saying.

"Yes, _dementors_, you skiving, worthless lump! And on _your_ watch, too!" she cried. "And _where_ were you? Off buying _illegal_ _cauldrons_ off the back of a broomstick! Didn't I tell you not to go? _Didn't I_?"

"Yes – well, I…" Mundungus fidgeted awkwardly. "It was a very good business opportunity, y'see…"

Mrs. Figg raised the bag of cat food menacingly and whacked him about the head with it.

"Ouch! Gerroff – gerroff, you mad old hag! Someone's – _ouch_! – someone's got to tell Dumbledore!"

Ichigo cleared his throat loudly. "YAMERO!" he shouted, and the pair of them froze immediately. "Stop acting like toddlers and act your goddamn age! It doesn't matter _whose_ fault it is! Figg-san, stop hitting him; Fletcher-san, go tell this Dumbledore person what's happened." He ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. "Yare yare… you each have a job to do. Do it."

Mrs. Figg and Mundungus looked at each other guiltily. "Er… what's yer name, kid?" Mundungus asked.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," he said with a scowl. "Now get a move on. From what I can tell, there isn't much time."

"…Right…" And with loud _CRACK_, Mundungus disappeared.

"Let's go," Mrs. Figg said quietly. They rounded the corner into Privet Drive, the street mercifully empty. "I'll just take you to the door," she told Harry. "This has been a catastrophe. Dumbledore _told_ us to make sure you didn't do _any_ magic at all, and now look…"

"Wait," said Harry, finding his voice at long last, "Dumbledore's been having me followed?"

"Of course he has!" she exclaimed as they passed number five. "Do you really think he would leave you alone after what happened in June? Merlin, Harry, they told me you were intelligent… Alright, get inside and _stay there_," she said, stopping at the end of the driveway of number four. "Someone will be in touch with you soon enough, I expect. Go on, now."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked hurriedly.

"Go back home, and await further instructions," she answered. "Good night."

And she walked down the street, quickly swallowed by the night.

"Wait, I still – hey!" Harry called after her, but she either did not hear him or chose to ignore him. "Augh!" he kicked the sidewalk angrily. "Why does this keep happening? Can't I get a straight answer out of _anyone_?"

"Calm down," Ichigo said irritably. "Let's get inside before—"

"Shut up!" the boy shouted. "Like you're one to talk! What was that sword thing earlier? What did you do to get rid of the dementor? What _are_ you?"

Ichigo sighed and rubbed his temples wearily. "I _told_ you I would answer your questions later once we were safe inside… In order: my zanpakutou, _Getsuga_ _Tenshou_, and the third one will take too long to explain at the moment. _Now_ _get in the goddamn house._"

Still fuming, Harry marched up to the door and rang the bell, Ichigo and Dudley following close behind.

Aunt Petunia's distorted shape appeared in the glass seconds before the door opened. "Oh, you found him! Come inside, Diddy, I was getting quite – quite worried – Diddy? What's the matter?"

Ichigo ducked out from under Dudley's arm just in time as the large boy staggered forward and vomited all over the welcome mat, splattering sick onto Petunia's shoes.

"DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter! Vernon? Vernon, come quick!"

Uncle Vernon came galumphing out of the living room with all the grace of a hippo. He spotted Dudley and quickly helped him into the house, guiding him into the lounge and setting him down on the sofa, where Isshin and the girls sat, watching a program on television.

"What happened?" Isshin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know," Vernon replied, looking grim. "Dudley, did Mrs. Polkiss give you something foreign for tea? Why are you all covered in dirt? Have you been lying – wait a moment, you haven't been _mugged_, have you?"

Aunt Petunia shrieked. "Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Oh Diddy… come on, speak to Mummy… tell me what they did to you…"

In all the hubbub, Ichigo and Harry seemed to have been completely forgotten on the doorstep. Ichigo casually stepped inside, caught his father's eye, jerked his head, and the two of them vanished in the direction of the kitchen. Harry slipped inside, seconds before Vernon slammed the door closed. He climbed the stairs, desperate for a chance to get away from it all and _think_.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's voices could still be heard, echoing through the hall.

"Who did it, son? Give us names, we'll be sure to catch them, don't worry."

"Shh, Vernon! He's trying to say something. What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!"

A few seconds of silence. Harry was almost to the top of the stairs when Dudley finally found his voice.

"_Him_."

Harry groaned. Perfect. Just bloody _perfect_.

"BOY! GET DOWN HERE!"

This day kept getting better and better.

-0-

"(What happened, Ichigo?)" Isshin asked once they were safely sequestered in the kitchen, away from the frantic Dursley family. "(Why did I feel your reiatsu spike earlier?)"

Ichigo hesitated a moment before speaking. "(We were… attacked in an alleyway,)" he replied after some thought. "(Except… the attackers weren't… how do I put this… they weren't like anything I've ever encountered before. They were… everything about them was _wrong_.)"

Isshin frowned. "('Wrong?' How do you mean?)"

"(I mean,)" said Ichigo, running a hand through his hair agitatedly, "(They were obviously spiritual beings, but their reiatsu was… _wrong_. Like a Shinigami without a zanpakutou, or a Hollow without a mask. Just… _wrong_.)" He paused for a moment. "(I asked Potter about them afterwards, since he seemed to know what they were. He said they were called 'dementors;' have you ever heard of them?)"

His father shook his head. "(No. Never…)"

"(He called them dementors, said they feed off happy memories… and that they eat souls.)"

Isshin looked up sharply. "(Are you sure?)"

Ichigo shrugged helplessly. "(I don't know. They certainly weren't Hollows… whatever they were, they sure as hell managed freak Shiro out. Anything that can make _him_ worry… well, it doesn't bode well for the rest of us. He's always going on about how 'fear is the one instinct that will never help you' and all that. For him to actually be afraid of something…)" he trailed off, shuddering. "(It's worrying.)"

"(Where is Anzu-kun now?)" Isshin asked, looking around as though expecting the Hollow to be lurking behind the toaster. "(He's not with you, is he?)"

"(He chased after one of the dementors that attacked us,)" Ichigo sighed. "(He could be anywhere by now…)" he cocked his head to the side, as though listening. "(Somewhere to the northeast, I think.)"

"(Are you sure it's entirely… _wise_ to let him out?)" Isshin asked warily.

Ichigo scowled. "(If you're going to give me a lecture on that 'all Hollows are evil destructive monsters' bullshit—)"

"(That's not what I meant,)" his father said hurriedly. "(I meant, will he be alright? An Espada-level Hollow running around is sure to attract the attention of the British Soul Society authorities. And not necessarily the good kind.)"

"(Point taken,)" Ichigo muttered, his earlier annoyance with his father dissolving.

_Oi, Shiro! Get your ass back here! Hurry up!_

A soft sound, barely more than a whisper, and a feeling of reluctant assent were the only response he received.

"(He's coming,)" he explained, noting his father's confused expression. "(It'll take a while though, even at sonido speeds.)"

Isshin nodded. "(What will you do now?)"

"(I don't know,)" Ichigo admitted after a moment. "(I guess… I need to report in to Seireitei and tell them what's happened. They'll have felt the reiatsu spike – Kurotsuchi's having me monitored, no doubt. I'm waiting for information on these 'dementors'; I asked Ulquiorra and Grimmjow to track down any files on them. They should be getting back soon… Grimmjow threatened to unleash Nel on R & D.)" He smirked. "(_That_ should get Kurotsuchi moving.)"

"(When are you leaving?)"

"(As soon as possible. How long will it take you to prepare a Senkaimon?)"

Isshin frowned. "(I assume one without a reishi-converter?)" Ichigo nodded. "(Not long. I'm no kidou specialist, but the Senkaimon isn't that tricky if you know what you're doing. Ten, fifteen minutes, tops.)"

"(You'd best get started, then,)" he said. He paused for moment, thinking. "(I think it's safe for you to go ahead and set it up in the bedroom. Dursley-oji and Dursley-oba seem to be thoroughly occupied at the moment.)"

"(Alright. You're the boss, after all.)"

Ichigo grimaced. "(Yeah, right.)" He frowned, deep in thought. "(You have any idea where Kon's hiding?)"

"(Last I knew, Yuzu-chan had him.)"

"(Arigatou.)" He stepped out into the hall. To his slight surprise, both Yuzu and Karin were huddled outside the living room door, their ears pressed to the wood.

"(Nani…? What's going on?)" he asked, walking up to them.

"(Vernon-ojisan and Harry-itoko-kun started yelling,)" Yuzu explained, looking worried. "(And Vernon-ojisan told us to go upstairs.)"

"(We've been listening at the door,)" Karin continued. "(Trying to figure out what they're yelling about… I've heard the word 'owls' a couple times already…)"

Ichigo frowned. "(You realize Kon'll be able to give a full report once we get him back? He's still in there, right?)"

Yuzu nodded. "(Aa… I hope he's alright,)" she said worriedly. "(Vernon-ojisan sounds awfully angry…)"

As if to confirm this, Vernon's voice came bellowing out of the lounge, clearly audible through the closed door: "NO, IT RUDDY WELL IS NOT ALL! SIT BACK DOWN!"

"(Somehow, I don't think he's going to be too worried about a stuffed animal on the sofa,)" Ichigo said dryly. He shook his head. "(Listen, I have to give a report to the higher-ups. Do you two think you could watch my body 'til I get back?)"

"(Sure, Ichi-nii.)"

Yuzu looked uneasy. "(You're not in trouble with Ukitake-san again are you, Onii-chan?)"

Ichigo couldn't help but laugh slightly, regardless of the seriousness of her question. "(No, I'm not… at least, I don't think I am.)"

-0-

The second Ichigo stepped out of the Senkaimon, he was confronted by a very, very harassed Kurotsuchi Mayuri.

"_KUROSAKI_!" the clown-faced man screeched, his odd hat askew and haori sporting several new burn marks, "HOW DARE YOU! DO YOU HAVE ANY _IDEA_ WHAT YOU'VE DONE? _MONTHS_ WORTH OF RESEARCH, _RUINED_! EXPERIMENTS, _DESTROYED_! SPECIMENS, _KILLED_! THAT _THING_ DESTROYED HALF MY LABORATORY!"

Ichigo smirked. "Good, those experiments were probably immoral and borderline-illegal anyway." He looked past Mayuri to see a rather pleased-looking Nel nestled safely in the arms of the juunibantai fukutaichou and an irritable Grimmjow looking determinedly in the opposite direction.

"How's she doing?" he asked Nemu, taking the child from her.

Nemu smiled – or came close to it, anyway. "She is doing quite well, Kurosaki-taichou."

"Ne, Itsygo, we dids good and beated up clown-face fer ya," Nel said happily, crawling to her favorite spot on his shoulder. Her face fell a little as she continued, "But we's couldn' fin' da infermat'in ya was lookin' fer."

He glanced at the Sexta, who refused to meet his gaze.

Mayuri scowled as they walked in the direction of the First Division compound. "You could have simply _asked_ for the information, Kurosaki. I would have been only too happy to tell you that there are no such creatures as these 'dementors' in our databanks. There was no need to unleash that… that _thing_ on my laboratories."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Nothing? Nothing at all?"

"Dare you to doubt _my_ knowledge of _my_ _own_ _department's_ research?" Mayuri hissed. "They are a complete unknown. The only data we have on them is what we collected through your soul phone. We are still in the process of analyzing it."

Ichigo ignored him. "Has Ulquiorra come back with anything yet?" he asked Grimmjow.

The Espada growled, and glared at him angrily. "That bastard? He's still out searching. The idiots are 'helping' – though why the hell he won't kill 'em is beyond me."

"Kami…" he grimaced at the thought of Nel's 'older brothers' in a library. "Go help him, will you? Try not to kill them – Nel'd be really upset if you did, and I don't want to deal with a crying Tercera. And don't blow anything up!" he added as Grimmjow left, shoulders hunched and glowering.

They approached the large gates to the ichibantai's conference hall. Ichigo lowered the yawning child to the ground.

"Ne, Nel," he said as she rubbed sleep out of her eyes, "I've got to go to a meeting with Ukitake-san. Can you find your way back home on your own?"

She nodded slowly, suppressing a yawn. "'Course Nel cans, Itsygo, Nel's a big girl."

He patted her mask affectionately. "Good girl. Go on, now."

She scampered off down the street, and was quickly swallowed by the early-morning mist.

Catching Mayuri staring after her with a hungry look in his eyes, Ichigo gave the man a sharp glare. "Don't even _think_ about it."

He threw open the gates to the hall and entered, taking his place between Komamura and Amagai. Komamura remained as impassive as ever, but Shuusuke shook his head exasperatedly.

"Yare yare, Kurosaki-kun… what have you gotten yourself into this time?"

Ichigo grimaced. "I haven't a clue."

A slight cough from the front of the room brought them back to attention. Ukitake smiled wearily. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice," he began. "As I'm sure you're all aware by now, about an hour ago the Research and Development Institute received a series of unusual readings picked up by Kurosaki-taichou's soul phone, which were accompanied by a sudden surge in his spiritual pressure."

Ichigo took this as his cue, and stepped forward to face his fellow captains. "At about nine o'clock in the evening local time – roughly six AM here – I and my two cousins were attacked by two strange, cloaked creatures while in an alleyway," he said crisply. "One of my cousins, Potter Harry, drove off one of them by summoning some sort of reishi beast. The other was injured by a Getsuga Tenshou and felled by a Cero. Its fellow is currently being pursued by Shirosaki-taichou.

"When questioned, Potter told me the creatures were called 'dementors,' and fed off emotions. He also mentioned that they were apparently capable of consuming souls. However," he continued, ignoring the sudden upswing in noise that accompanied his words, "They were completely unlike any sort of Hollow I have ever encountered. In fact, I don't think they were Hollows at all."

"What were they, then?" asked Hitsugaya. "How can you be so certain they weren't a form of Hollow we've never encountered? Hueco Mundo is a large place, and there are many types of souls. What's to say they were simply a kind you haven't met before?"

"Even if they were some new breed of Hollow, all Hollows possess a specific frequency pattern in their reiatsu signatures," Amagai argued. "Even the Arrancar and Vaizards have it. Any new species would still—"

"Regardless of whether that is the case or not, Kurosaki-taichou may still have been mistaken. He himself has admitted that he lacks any sort of talent whatsoever in the area of reiatsu analysis," said Byakuya mildly.

Ichigo scowled. "I know a Hollow when I see one, Byakuya. Did you forget _who_ exactly I've spent the last decade and a half dealing with?" He shook his head. "No, they definitely weren't Hollows."

"Then what were they?" Ukitake prompted, speaking loudly so as to be heard over the chatter of the captains.

Ichigo paused, keenly aware of the fact that all eyes were now on him. "They were… _wrong_," he said, thinking back to what he had said to Isshin barely half an hour earlier. "Their reiatsu felt like they were missing some fundamental part of themselves. Like a Shinigami without a zanpakutou, or a mask-less Hollow."

"A Shinigami who has lost their zanpakutou is unusual, but not unheard of," rumbled Komamura. "And there are several Hollows in _your_ _own_ _division_ who have removed their masks."

"That's not the same," he argued, waving a hand dismissively through the air. "When a Hollow removes its mask to become an Arrancar, it does so voluntarily. Even Arrancar created by the Hougyoku were willing to go through with the process. These definitely weren't Arrancar. Their masks were forcibly ripped from them."

"How's that any different?" asked Renji, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, those two idiots of Nel's had theirs taken, if I remember rightly. They sure as hell aren't _sane_ by any definition, but they're not 'wrong' like you say."

"Pesche and Dondochakka didn't exactly _lose_ theirs per se," Ichigo explained. "Their masks were torn off, but Nnoitra and Szayel at least had the decency to return them… Admittedly, by throwing them off the top of Las Noches, but still…" He scowled at that memory, but quickly shook his head and returned to the topic at hand. "The mask is the only thing protecting a Hollow from the outside world. Since Hollows are essentially comprised of base instinct, the mask is precious to them. Hollows, for all their violent tendencies, are actually quite fragile. All the hurt and sadness and anger they accumulate after death leaves them very vulnerable and emotionally unstable. They hide behind the mask so they don't have to deal with it all.

"Tearing off another Hollow's mask is a monstrous thing to do, even by Hollow standards. Last I checked it came with an immediate death sentence from la Ciudad de Máscaras. It's taboo. Not returning the mask is even worse. Way, _way_ past taboo – I'm not sure the Elders even _have_ a punishment for that. It's just… not something a Hollow, no matter how crazy or cruel, would _ever_ do."

"I fail to see how this matter has any effect on Soul Society," Soifon said after a moment. "I understand how such issues would impact Kurosaki-taichou's division especially, but I see no significance in the matter for the rest of us."

"It _matters_," Ichigo growled, "Because these things aren't necessarily Hollows. There's no fundamental difference between a Hollow and a Shinigami – both are powerful spirits, and the line between them is thin; Kami knows how often it's been blurred before. All this talk of Hollows and masks – these 'dementors' or whatever the hell they are could just as easily have been Shinigami. _That's_ why it matters."

Silence followed this pronouncement. Several of the older captains – Byakuya in particular – looked mildly offended at being compared to Hollows.

"What would you do?" Ukitake asked in the wake of the silence.

Ichigo shrugged. "Go back and find out more. What they really are, where they come from… if they can be saved. They attacked in a group – that suggests they're pack hunters, and they were clever enough to lay a rather complicated trap for their prey. This implies they are both highly intelligent and dangerous, which makes them a possible threat to both the human population and Soul Society."

"Soutaichou, why not allow my division to gather the information?" suggested Mayuri, licking his lips in anticipation. The gesture made him look more than a little obscene.

Ichigo scowled. "Hell no," he said angrily.

"And why not?" asked Mayuri innocently. "Research is, after all, our specialty. Who better to go after new information than information and experimentation experts?"

"Apart from I don't trust you 'cause you're a damn freaky bastard?" Ichigo muttered under his breath, eliciting a small smirk from Amagai. "A couple of reasons," he said aloud. "One, I'm already in the area, so there's no need to prepare for an expedition. Two, I'm in a better position to question Potter, the only one who has any clue what the hell's going on. Three, through Potter I have better access to any information that his people might have." He let his reiatsu flare slightly. "That enough reason for you, Kurotsuchi?"

Mayuri opened his mouth to argue, but seeing the look on Ichigo's face, promptly closed it, looking sullen. Apparently even he had _some_ sense of self-preservation.

"Maa, maa… all the same, is it wise to have a captain out in the field?" wondered Kyouraku aloud. "I mean, who knows how long this mission might take? There's no arguing the Seireitei's safer with the Gotei intact, and having a captain of Ichigo-kun's level staying indefinitely in the area controlled by Avalon could be troublesome. The _last_ thing we need is an inter-Society war. And anyway, this sort of thing is their problem to deal with. Do we have any right to get involved in their affairs?"

Ichigo scowled. "Since these things are still around, I think it's obvious that they either _won't_ or _can't_ handle the dementors. They _need_ help. Their existence is a serious matter, one I'm not willing to leave alone. And they already know about me, anyway. I sent a jigokuchou ahead before we even left Japan."

"Aa, but in that case you were acting simply as an abnormally-powerful human, not a Gotei Captain," Rukia said quietly. "That changes the whole situation. It's considered rather rude for one Soul Society precinct to interfere with another. They might view your 'help' as an insult, no matter how well-meaning your intent is."

"So send 'em another bug," growled Kenpachi. "They can't complain if they're given a heads-up, now can they? And if they do, Kurosaki and I can always… _convince_ 'em."

Byakuya gave him a withering glare. "I assume you mean to beat them into submission." He shook his head. "Your idea of diplomacy is rather lacking, Zaraki-taichou."

The large man shrugged indifferently, cleaning his ear with a fingernail. "Just a suggestion, Kuchiki."

Ukitake looked at Ichigo, who met his gaze unflinchingly. He sighed. "Calm down, you two." He turned to face the gobantai taichou. "Kurosaki-taichou, I'm giving you ten days to find out more about these dementors. At the end of that period we'll evaluate your findings and determine further action at that time. During this time, you are prohibited from drawing your zanpakutou in all but the direst of circumstances, and under _no_ _circumstances_ are you to use your mask or Bankai. And it would also be a good idea if Shirosaki-taichou didn't wander around during your stay – we don't need an incident. Also, do at least _try_ and keep from telling the mortals of your status as a Shinigami. Remember, mortals are not supposed to know of our existence; if they knew, they might interfere with our work. Is that understood, Kurosaki-taichou?"

Ichigo frowned. "I reserve the right to use the full extent of my abilities in the case of defending myself, family, and allies."

The soutaichou hesitated before nodding. "…As is only appropriate. Do you accept those terms?"

"Hai, soutaichou."

"Good. Now get going."

Ichigo nodded and vanished with a soft swishing noise back towards the Senkaimon.

"Is it wise to let him go, Ukitake-kun?" asked Unohana softly.

Ukitake shrugged. "Probably not. At least now we have some measure of control over his actions; with any luck he won't inadvertently start another war. But he would have gone anyway," he added, smiling ruefully. "That's just the sort of man he is."

-0-

Harry stormed up to his room, Uncle Vernon having finally allowed him to leave the lounge. It had taken some time for Harry to convince the man that Dudley would be fine, but he'd eventually gotten through to him. Petunia's howler was what had shocked him the most. Who on Earth would send her one of those in the first place? Fortunately, Isshin and his daughters had vanished upstairs before that had arrived, and Ichigo was nowhere to be found at all, so at least he didn't have to worry about _that_ particular violation of the Statute of Secrecy…

He fished three scraps of parchment out of his trunk and sat down at his desk.

'_I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here._'

He addressed them each to Ron, Hermione, and Sirius respectively, and paced the room agitatedly, waiting for Hedwig to return. He couldn't sleep even though his body was stiff and aching with tiredness, his mind a whirlwind of thought and his pounding headache not helping in the slightest.

He threw an angry glance out the window at the star-strewn sky. Hedwig still hadn't come back yet, and he was impatient for her return. He wanted answers, and he wanted them _now_. Why were Mrs. Figg and Mundungus Fletcher tailing him without him knowing? Why had Dumbledore ordered them to? Did he not trust Harry to look after himself? Why wouldn't he at least _talk_ to him? And why, why, _why_ were dementors sent to get him?

"There you are," he snapped as Hedwig flew through the open window and landed on her cage, beak full of frog. "Put that down, I've got a job for you. Take these straight to Ron, Hermione, and Sirius," he told her, tying the letters to her scaly leg. "And don't bother coming back without nice long replies, you got that? Just keep pecking them until they've written decent-length letters if you've got to. Understand?"

Hedwig gave a muffled hoot, which he took to mean 'yes.'

"Get going then!"

She took off immediately, soaring out through the window and into the night sky. Harry stared after her, now feeling a little guilty with the way he had treated her. She was his only friend at Privet Drive, a loyal companion who never faltered and had never failed him once in all the years he had known her. He sighed. He'd make it up to her when she came back.

"Now that wasn' very nice," chuckled a voice behind him.

Harry whipped around, wand out and already raised. "Who's there?"

"Maa, maa, no need ta get upset," it said, its voice high and bizarrely distorted. "I ain't gonna 'urt ya."

The thing fell from the top of Harry's wardrobe, landing with catlike grace on the bedroom floor. Harry stared, backing away into his desk as the thing brushed imaginary dust off its long black coat. Its skin was chalky and pale, as though it hadn't seen daylight in several years, and its hair was equally white. Its eyes, however, where what disturbed Harry the most. The whites of them were jet black, and the brilliant yellow irises glittered with a cruel intelligence.

"Who… _what_ are you?" Harry stammered, his wand shaking in his hand.

The thing paused, head tilted at an angle as though thinking. "Ya want the lon' or short version?" he – for the thing was definitely male – asked with a wide grin, leaning back against the wardrobe. Harry noticed its tongue was blue. "Simples' answer is I'm King's better an' more attractive evil twin."

"Who is King?"

"Aw, c'mon, you know 'im," the thing said, waving a hand through the air. "Tall guy, orange hair, looks like 'e wants ta kill somebody?"

Harry blinked. "Wait… you mean Ichigo?"

"That's the one!" he exclaimed with another mad grin.

"Why… why do you call him 'King?'" Harry asked.

The thing blinked and gave him an odd look. "That's gotta be the dumbest question I ever 'eard. King's the king, so I call 'im that. Though I s'pose now 'e's technically 'Aibou'… eh, whatever," he said with a shrug. "Ol' 'abits die 'ard."

This statement made absolutely no sense whatsoever to Harry, but he decided not to press the subject. "So who are you, then?"

The thing gave him another psychotic grin. "Shirosaki Anzu, at yer service!" he said with an elaborate bow. "Or I s'pose that'd be Anzu Shirosaki to you? Damn English and its stupid namin' conventions."

"What are you doing here?"

"What is this, Twenny Questions?" the newly-named 'Shirosaki' muttered irritably. He stretched out on his back, completely unconcerned. "Whaddaya think? I'm waitin' fer King ta come back from talkin' ta the boss. And put down the stick, gaki, it's gettin' on my nerves. If ya poke my eye out with that thin' I'm gonna hafta use it fer target practice an' that'll get King mad an' then we'll both be in deep shit."

Harry didn't lower his wand. "Where's Ichigo, then? Why aren't you with him?"

"Like I say, 'e's off talkin' with ol' man Ukitake. Prob'ly 'bout you, I bet. And I ain't with 'im 'cause they don' like me much. 'Specially that pinky pansy-boy. But that ain't surprisin', considerin' the firs' time we met I damn near killed 'im. Ah, the good ol' days…" he trailed off, grinning sadistically at an apparently happy memory. Abruptly, he glanced at the door and smirked. "An' speakin' o' King, 'e just got back. 'Bout time, too. 'Ope 'e brought good news…"

Harry had just opened his mouth to ask exactly how the thing knew Ichigo was coming, when the door opened and Ichigo stepped into the room, dressed in normal clothes and wearing a tired expression.

"Uwasa o…" Shirosaki cackled. "(Yo, King! We were just talkin' 'boutcha! What'd ol' man Ukitake say?)"

Ichigo shrugged as he sat down next to his white doppelganger. "(Not much. We're on recon duty for the next couple days.)"

The thing scowled. "(Che. I '_ate_ recon…)"

"(Of course you do,)" Ichigo sighed. "(You'd rather _beat_ the information out of people.)"

"(Damn straight!)"

"(Honestly, you and Kenpachi,)" the redhead muttered, turning to face an utterly bewildered Harry. "Gomen ne, I don't think we've been properly introduced yet. Ichigo Kurosaki, gobantai taichou of the Goteijuusantai of the Seireitei. Sit down; we've got a lot to discuss."

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_itai: an expression of pain; 'ouch,' 'ow,' etc._

_maa maa: an expression requesting patience; similar to 'calm down' or 'slow down'_

_kami: the spirits of Shinto faith; sometimes translated as 'god', 'diety', etc. (lit. divine)_

_iie: no (specifically, a firm negative)_

_yamero: imperative form of the verb 'yameru', to stop, give up, etc._

_yare yare: an expression indicating exasperation_

_nani: what_

_juunibantai: twelfth division (lit. twelfth unit)  
[ichiban-: first; goban-: fifth, etc.]  
_

_fukutaichou: vice-captain, lieutenant, etc. (lit. vice-unit commander)_

_soutaichou: captain-commander, commander general, etc. (lit. all unit[s] commander)_

_hai: yes (specifically, a firm positive)_

_aibou: partner, companion, accomplice, etc._

_gaki: brat_

_uwasa o: part of a longer phrase, 'uwasa o sureba kage'; has similar meaning to 'speak of the devil and he will appear'_

* * *

_Greetings to you all._

_As promised, here is chapter two. Chapter three will probably be posted on Friday._

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED! Elspeth, willi890, dragonXXforte, One of the Colorless, light sorceress, home dawg fo shizzle, Random Reviewers 1 & 2, Jiyle, Shandul, KianaNic, Exclamated, FanFictionFan345, Ziya Hitsugaya, Escapedslave99 (the cookie was delicious by the way), Taio Kaiona, and JessieKage all have my deepest thanks._

_A few people brought up questions regarding when this story takes place within the timeline. Hopefully this was clarified in this chapter, but if it wasn't: canonically, it is set in Book Five of the Harry Potter series and fifteen years after the end of the Winter War. As I began writing this in June of 2009, most if not all of recent Bleach canon is ignored/modified. The War ended quite differently in this story as opposed to canon; how it ended is another novel entirely, but the major events will slowly be revealed over time._

_This brings me to a second comment. A number of reviewers pointed out an apparent discrepancy in the character's ages: While Yuzu and Karin are both described as being in their mid-twenties, Ichigo still has the appearance of a teenager. _This is not a mistake_. Ichi-kun, for all intents and purposes, is _dead_ (remember, Urahara severed his chain of fate back before the Invasion of Soul Society arc, and if that doesn't qualify a person to be 'dead' in the Bleach universe I don't know what does), ergo he does not age as rapidly as living humans. While Shinigami do age, it is at a considerably slower rate than the living (remember, Rukia claims to be over 150, still looks like a teenager, and has a considerably different appearance now than she did back during her childhood). Since his sisters are still 'alive,' they age at a normal rate and therefore appear to be 'older' than their older brother._

_It was also commented on that as a captain, Ichigo should have some knowledge of the existence of the wizarding community and its inhabitants. This is a valid point, and I'm having a bit of difficulty trying to explain it without going into spoiler-territory (and this _does_ fall into that category). Suffice to say Seireitei _is_ aware of the existence of wizards, but it's something that is more along the lines of passive knowledge rather than something that's specifically taught. For lack of a better analogy, it's a bit like how you know the sky is blue without ever being directly told of its blueness._

_Also, one reviewer asked for translations of the Japanese phrases used. Those have now been added at the bottom of chapter one. Bear in mind that I do not speak a word of Japanese, so despite my best attempts, I may have used them incorrectly. Please correct me if I am wrong._

_I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. I hope I addressed all the questions/concerns people raised, and I can only pray that it has lived up to everyone's expectations._

_Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love,  
Nesarna  
10/5/10_


	3. Meetings in the Dark

**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertaiment purposes._**

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine._**

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Third

-0-

Harry blinked nervously at the figure now seated comfortably at the desk facing him. He and Ichigo were alone now, Shirosaki having (grudgingly) gone off to take some measurements and try and salvage the remains of the dementor in the alley (apparently someone named 'Koo-ro-soo-chi' had wanted a 'sample'; Harry tried not to think too hard about what that could mean). An awkward silence filled the room as Harry fidgeted nervously with the moth-eaten bed sheet. Ichigo had flipped open his cell phone, rapidly punching in numbers and scowling darkly as the device beeped out an unfavorable response.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Er… not the answer you were looking for?"

Ichigo's eyes flickered in his direction before returning to the screen. "No."

"So… what are you doing?"

The phone snapped shut and Ichigo leaned back in his chair with an exhausted sigh. "Not much… waiting for reports from some people I know. And trying to locate Koga… _knew_ I shouldn't have authorized that extended leave," he chuckled dryly. "The Bount are damn good at hiding themselves when they want to be."

Harry stared. "Your phone can do that?"

Ichigo gave him an odd look. "Ano… Aa, technology's getting pretty advanced these days."

"Oh."

Silence fell again.

"Shiro's coming," Ichigo said suddenly, standing and opening the tiny bedroom window. "Should be here any minute…"

Harry nodded slowly. "How do you know?" he blurted. "I mean, he said the same thing before you came back from wherever-it-is-you-were. How do you do it?"

Ichigo looked thoughtful. "We share a… connection, I guess is the best way to put it."

"He said the same thing," the black-haired boy muttered. "Must be a twin thing, then. Fred and George do it too… at least, I think they do. Don't think I've ever seen one without the other, though."

His cousin stared at him, dumbfounded, before bursting into hysterical laughter. "T-twins? Is that what he told you?" His laughter died away slowly. "Ha… Kami, that's the funniest thing I've heard in _ages_…"

"Well, that's what he told me," said Harry irritably. "Was he lying when he said he was your – and I quote – 'evil twin?'"

Ichigo's expression was torn between a grimace and a smirk. "Not exactly, I guess, but it's a bit of an oversimplification. We're not exactly blood-related… it's more of a mental or spiritual thing than anything else."

"Is that how you know where the other is?"

"That's part of it," he admitted. "It also helps that I've gotten good enough at reiatsu-sensing that I can tell where people are, if I know them well enough."

Harry had just opened his mouth to ask just what in the name of Merlin 'ray-asu' was when Ichigo's white double appeared through the window, landing gracefully on the floor next to the desk. He dumped the large black bundle he was carrying on Harry's bedroom floor unceremoniously, regarding it with obvious distaste.

Ichigo opened the bundle carefully, wincing slightly as a horrible smell filled the small room that made Harry retch violently. The redhead glanced over at his duplicate, eyebrows raised.

"(An advanced decay rate?)"

Shirosaki nodded. "(There wasn' much left by the time I got there. Couple more 'ours an' I s'pect the 'ole thin' woulda been gone.)"

"(Weird… Don't suppose it's any relation to Barragan, do you?)"

"('Ope not, 'e was enough of a bastard when 'e was alive,)" the thing muttered. "('Ow ya plannin' on preservin' that thin', anyway? At that rate it won' survive lon' enough to reach Kurotsuchi.)"

"(I was thinking Geki,)" Ichigo admitted. "(It causes minor temporal stasis… that should work, right?)"

Shirosaki shrugged. "(Dunno. I'm no good at kidou, remember?)"

Ichigo snorted. "(Aa, that's you alright.)" He wrapped the dementor's remains back in its cloak and set the bundle in the middle of the floor.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, eyeing the robes warily.

Neither of them bothered to answer his question. Ichigo closed his eyes and held his hand out in front of him, face screwed up in concentration.

With an odd surging sensation, light exploded on Ichigo's palm, making it shine a pale blue. Harry stared. "What—"

"Ya might wanna step back," Shirosaki advised. "King's no good at kidou; even low-level Bakudou tend ta get a li'l messy."

"(_Disintegrate, you black dog of Rondanini_! _Look upon yourself with horror and then claw out your own throat_!)" he chanted, the light in his hand blinding in its intensity. It shifted colors as he finished the incantation, changing from a bright blue to a deep, bloody red. "(_Bakudou no Kyuu: Geki_!)"

The red glow immediately shot away from him, enveloping the rotting dementor in scarlet light. The light flickered for a moment before fading away, leaving only a slight crimson shine near the edge of the bundle. Ichigo took a long, slow breath and lowered his arm.

Shirosaki grinned. "(Oi, congrats King! Ya pulled off Geki without blowin' yerself up!)"

"(Urusai,)" Ichigo muttered, bending and picking up the faintly glowing remains. He tossed them at his white double, who caught them easily. "(Take these over to Tou-san; he can pass 'em on to Kurotsuchi.)"

"(Che. Why should I? Yer jus' as—)"

Harry gaped at them. "You – _you're a wizard_!"

They paused, midway through their bickering, and stared blankly at him. "Nani?"

"You _have_ to be! I mean, of course you are, that couldn't have been anything _except_ magic…" Harry continued, completely oblivious to the confused looks the pair were giving him. "Why didn't you say something before? If I'd known… what spell did you use to fight off the dementors? Was it wandless magic, like the one you just used? Wait a moment… that was a _major_ violation of the underage magic laws! The Ministry doesn't know you're here, they'll think that's the second bit of magic I've done in _three hours_! I'll get expelled before you can say 'Quidditch!' Even Dumbledore couldn't—"

"Oi, calm down, Potter!" Ichigo shouted, shaking Harry roughly by the shoulder. "Now speak slowly, I can't understand you if you keep babbling like that."

"Why didn't you tell me you were a wizard?" Harry asked after a moment, giving his cousin a hard glare.

"Ano…" Ichigo exchanged a bewildered glance with his white counterpart. What on Earth was Potter going on about? "I – I'm not – what do you mean, a 'wizard?'"

"You can do _magic_, what else? That _was_ magic, right? Of _course_ it was, it couldn't possibly _be_ anything else…" Harry trailed off, getting up and pacing his bedroom floor. "Except… what did you call it? Kee-tow."

"Kidou."

"Whatever," he said, waving a hand through the air dismissively. "The point is, even if you call it something else, you can still do magic. That makes you a wizard." He turned and looked his cousin squarely in the eye. "Why didn't you tell me? It would have made everything so much easier…"

"I…" Ichigo glanced at Shirosaki in confusion, who simply shrugged. "We didn't know you were one," he said at last.

Harry chuckled softly. "I take it I'm not as famous in Asia as I am here… That makes sense, I suppose, since it's half a world away…" he smiled slightly to himself. "I can't decide if that's reassuring or not…"

Shirosaki quirked a pale eyebrow. "Why'd that be reassurin'?"

"I'm really famous here – if I ever wanted to get away from the 'adoring fans,' I could come visit you in Japan," Harry explained. His expression darkened. "Of course, I might have to come sooner than expected. If – _when_ – the Ministry expels me – and they _will_, after that little bit of magic you just did—"

"Why would they expel you?"

"Because I did magic, _obviously_. Don't they have underage magic restrictions where you come from?" he retorted, pacing angrily. "They'll think that's the second bit of magic I've done in just a few hours – they won't even bother waiting until the hearing to come and snap my wand! And what after that, Azkaban? Exile? A _death sentence_? Merlin knows not having a wand with Voldemort on the loose is enough of one—"

"Like 'ell they will, we won't let 'em," Shirosaki snapped. "Ya ain't dyin' on our watch, kid, stick thingy or no stick thingy."

Ichigo, however, looked thoughtful. "How do they know you did magic in the first place?"

Harry paused, mid-step. "I don't know," he admitted. "I think there must be some sort of tracking charm on wands… That'd make sense. Hermione would know."

"Well, since I didn't use a 'wand' thing, there's no reason for a 'tracking charm' to have picked up Geki, is there?" Ichigo asked, smirking. "I don't think you've got anything to worry about. And anyway, the British authorities know I'm here; if they did pick up the bakudou, I'll explain what happened and they'll let the Seireitei deal with any punishment. Alright? Now calm down."

Harry breathed deeply and sat back down on the bed. "Yeah. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Ichigo said, leaning back in his chair. "What's this hearing thing you're worrying about, anyway?"

Harry hung his head sadly. "It's to determine whether or not I'll be expelled from Hogwarts – that's the school I go to – for doing magic. Only, I didn't have any choice in the matter; if I hadn't used the Patronus Charm, we'd all be soulless shells by now: not dead, but not really alive either…" he trailed off uncomfortably. "You don't feel or anything. You just… exist. It's not a pretty fate, I imagine… Nearly happened to me once, when I was thirteen…"

_Ya don' die when one o' them thin's eats yer soul?_ Shirosaki repeated softly. _I don' get it. When the soul's removed from the body, the body dies. Simple as that._

Ichigo shrugged slightly. _Maybe they don't actually eat the _soul_…_

_Then what?_

He shook his head. _I don't know._

"…but fortunately I was able to use the Patronus Charm to drive them off. That's the only thing that works, that I know of. It's a bloody hard spell, though. It takes a lot out of you…"

"What's the Pa-tro-nus Charm?"

"It summons a Patronus, which is the only thing that can harm a Dementor. A Patronus is a sort of guardian, a projection of your happy feelings. But they can't feel pain, so dementors can't hurt them," Harry explained. "Hermione says it's an old protection spell, but other than that I don't know much about them."

"I see…" Ichigo murmured. "So then, what exactly _are_ dementors?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Professor Lupin told me they're horrible creatures, and I'm inclined to agree with him. They feed on happiness, I know, and they create misery in wizards and Muggles alike—"

"'Muggles?'"

"—Non-magical folk – They force their victims to relive their darkest memories. And, of course, if given half a chance they'll suck out your soul. They're horrible creatures," he repeated, shuddering. "I can't understand _why_ the Ministry would use them."

"'Old on – yer gover'men' actually _employs_ those thin's?" Shirosaki screeched, looking appalled. "Why?"

"Yeah, because as horrible as they are, they keep dangerous prisoners from escaping," Harry explained bitterly. "At least, that's _their_ logic. They're prison guards. I don't like it, myself. It's horrible on the inmates, especially if they committed no crime in the first place. Most go insane within a few months, if not weeks," he added quietly. "They're never the same when – _if_ – they get out. It's awful."

Neither Ichigo nor his white doppelganger knew what to say to this.

"Anyway, what really confuses me is why dementors would be in Little Whinging in the first place. There're hardly any wizards living here at all; as far as I know, I'm the only one. They don't have a reason to come here at all. The only thing I can think of is that someone sent them, but that doesn't make sense… unless the dementors really _have_ joined Voldemort like Dumbledore predicted they would – but the _Prophet_ would have said something about _that_, even if they wanted to completely ignore Voldemort's return…"

"Who is Vol-da-mort?" Ichigo asked. "You mentioned him once before. Who is he?"

"Only the most powerful Dark Lord in wizarding history," Harry scowled. "Actually, it'd make sense if he _did_ send those dementors after me. Merlin knows what he'd give to have me dead, especially since his plan didn't work out so well at the end of last year—"

"Why would this Vol-da-mort guy want to kill you?"

Harry stared at him for a moment, before blinking and shaking his head sadly. "I keep forgetting you don't know about me… Fourteen years ago, Voldemort attacked my family. He killed my parents and then tried to kill me. The spell he used, _Avada Kedavra_, the same one he used on my parents and on hundreds of others, is supposed to be unblockable – you're not supposed to survive being hit with the Avada. Since I'm still here, it obviously didn't work. The curse reflected back on Voldemort instead of killing me. No one really knows why," he continued, seeing the confused expression on Ichigo's face. "Though I suspect Dumbledore has an idea…"

"Who's Dum-bull-door?"

Harry sighed. "Honestly, how backwards are you Asian wizards? Albus Dumbledore's probably the strongest wizard in the world, apart from Voldemort. He's practically a legend."

"Ah. But if the curse – Avada Kedavra, I think you called it – ended up hitting this Vol-da-mort bastard, how is it he's back now as you say?"

"That's the thing; he wasn't actually dead, I don't think. I don't know _what_ he was… I doubt he did either. He wasn't a ghost. More of a… shade of himself, I suppose. He simply existed, completely powerless. Well, mostly powerless," Harry amended. "He could possess stuff… animals, people, that sort of thing; he possessed Professor Quirrel in my first year. I don't know what you'd call that."

"A soul," Ichigo breathed. Out loud, he asked, "How did he come back?"

Harry fell silent for a moment. "It was… it was a dark ritual. He didn't really come back from the _dead_, I don't think… he got his body and his power back. It was awful… He killed…"

"Somebody died," Shirosaki said bluntly. It wasn't a question. "Ya saw it."

"…Yes," Harry confessed after a moment, his eyes clouding. "It was all my… _my_ _fault_… my _stupidity_ got him _killed_…"

A pause followed this admission, while a single tear traced a damp trail down Harry's cheek and he looked determinedly away from the other two. Ichigo glanced at his white doppelganger. "Ano… what happened, Potter?"

His cousin shuddered. "I don't want to talk about it," he said quietly.

Ichigo nodded and shook Harry's shoulder gently. "Look, I'm not too good at this whole comforting thing, but you'll be alright, Potter. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not for a few months or years, but you'll be alright." He stood, smiling sadly at his cousin. "(Come on, Shiro. We've got a report to work on, jigokuchou to send. Let's go.)"

The white creature shifted, giving the dark-haired boy a slightly suspicious look. "(…Hai.)"

-0-

The days passed slowly, with Harry swinging between bouts of listless depression and restless anxiety. Ichigo, for all intents and purposes, maintained a fairly distant relationship with his cousin after that first night, instead spending a great deal of time with his family and the Dursleys – who, naturally, stayed as far away as possible from the dreaded wizard upstairs – and by the time Friday rolled around, Ichigo had packed his bags (obligatory mountain of paperwork included) and left with his sisters and parent for the London conference center and hotel.

At least, the Dursley family _thought_ he did. Technically speaking, they'd been spending time with Kon… Apparently none of them thought it odd that a woman Yuzu's age still carried around a filthy stuffed animal. Who knew?

Ichigo scowled and flipped his phone shut for the fifteenth time that evening. Three days now he'd been waiting for Ulquiorra's findings and still nothing, not even a note saying that there was nothing to be found. Hell, for all he knew, Pesche and Dondochakka might have knocked over a bookshelf in the Central Archives in their well-meaning, misguided eagerness to help and killed the Cuarta Espada. The lack of news was starting to seriously worry him, but he reassured himself with the thought that, Ulquiorra being Ulquiorra, he was probably putting together the most well-researched, most detailed damned report in the history of the Seireitei.

_At least it'll be thorough by the time I get it,_ Ichigo thought, standing and stretching tiredly. Several bones in his back popped ominously. _Che. Remind me to never spend nine hours straight in a tree again._

_Will do, _Shiro sniggered. He had retreated into the safety of their collective mind per Ukitake's suggestion; he hadn't been happy with it, but had reluctantly agreed that it would be a bad idea for them to deliberately provoke Avalon. Not, of course, that they had seen either hide or hair of the British Soul Society forces since their arrival – something Ichigo found somewhat odd, since he had requested a meeting with their equivalent of the Court Guard (whatever it was called) to find out more about the dementor creatures; pooling resources and all that. But he figured that, for whatever reason, they wanted nothing to do with his investigation, and so didn't pay it much attention.

_Still nothin' from Emo-chan, then?_

_Not a word. Nothing from Koga or Urahara, either. Kurotsuchi claims to still be processing the data we gave him._

_Che. More like 'e's still pissed Nel wrecked 'is lab. Bastard._

_Hn._ Ichigo glanced towards the silent front of Number Four. The Dursleys had left some time ago, dressed in their formal best and wearing expressions of immense smugness. Harry had not been with them. _Think it's time to check up on Potter?_

_Aa, it's abou' time fer 'im ta start – King!_ Shiro's mental voice became agitated, the waves of anxiety rolling off him adding to Ichigo's own. _There's somebody in the 'ouse!_

_I know!_ Ichigo snapped, already dashing back towards Number Four. It was faint, but both he and his Hollow had felt a slight flare of reiatsu in the empty house – and it hadn't been Harry's. He landed silently and crouched low beneath an open upstairs window, Zangetsu already half-drawn. The house was completely silent and immobile… perhaps too much so. _Where are they?_

His question was answered almost immediately when he heard a distinct crashing noise from the floor below, followed immediately by a hasty apology and several loud shushing noises.

_In the kitchen… and there're a lot of them, judging by the noise. Not very subtle, are they?_ He edged closer to the stairwell, tightening his grip on Zangetsu. It would be difficult to use the sword in such close quarters – a disadvantage of having a large zanpakutou – and Cero would only bring the house down on top of them, so unless he could lure the intruders outside, he'd be relying almost entirely on hakuda.

A door to his left clicked open, causing Ichigo to whip around, but he froze almost immediately with his blade inches from Harry's neck.

Harry blinked in shock, his brain apparently having trouble processing the fact that he had very nearly been beheaded. "Ichigo? What—"

Ichigo shoved his hand over Harry's mouth, motioning for him to stay quiet. Harry nodded, and Ichigo lowered his arm. He sheathed his zanpakutou and together the pair inched closer to the stairs. "If they try anything," Ichigo breathed, fixing his cousin with a hard glare, "I'm not going to hesitate."

With a nod, Harry stepped forward onto the landing, his wand raised, and immediately felt his heart leap. Standing in the downstairs hall were several shadowy figures crowded around the bottom of the stairs, and all, as far as he could tell, looking up at him.

"Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out," said a gruff voice from the bottom of the stairs.

Ichigo tensed behind him, but Harry waved with his free hand, trying to calm the high-strung teen. "Professor Moody?" he asked cautiously, not moving his wand an inch. He had, after all, a very good reason not to trust Alastor Moody. An imposter disguised as Moody had been in league with Voldemort last year; an imposter who had, furthermore, attempted to kill him.

The voice snorted. "I don't know so much about 'Professor.' Never got around to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."

Harry didn't move. He felt a slight tap on his elbow, and glanced sideways to see Ichigo, still crouched and tensed, ready to spring forward at any moment.

"Who is it?" he mouthed.

"Eight or nine people," Harry replied silently. "I don't know what they're here for…"

"It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away," said a second, hoarser voice.

Harry's face lit up like a child's on Christmas day. "P-Professor Lupin? Is… Is that you?" he asked hopefully, completely ignoring his cousin's darkening scowl.

"Why are we all standing around in the dark?" a third voice wondered aloud. Harry didn't recognize this one; it was young and distinctly female. "_Lumos_!"

And before Harry even had a chance to stop him, Ichigo had vanished from his spot at the top of the stairs with a soft swishing noise and reappeared in the hallway behind the woman, holding her head twisted at a dangerous angle. He batted away her glowing wand, and it fell to the floor with a clatter, casting eerie shadows on the ceiling.

As one the rest of the wizards rounded on him, their wand tips aglow with red stunners.

"_STUPEFY_!"

"_Bakudou no Hachijuuichi_:_ Danku_!" The stunning spells slammed into a transparent wall that appeared out of thin air, rebounding off the shield and flying every which-way, forcing many of the wizards to duck out of the way of the ominously sparking jets of light before they leapt to their feet again, wands alight.

"_Stop_, _stop_!" Harry shouted, thundering down the stairs and waving his arms frantically. "STOP!" He came to a halt between the two groups, panting and out of breath. He rounded on Ichigo, who still had the woman's neck in his grip, her face steadily turning blue. "What the _hell_ were you thinking? They're on my side!"

Ichigo scowled. "I _told_ you, if they tried anything—"

"Idiot! That was a spell for _light_, you moron! It's a _first_ _year_ _spell_, completely and utterly _harmless_! Let her go!"

"Che." He reluctantly released the now-white-haired woman from his stranglehold. She scrambled away from him and back to the circle of tense wizards, where Lupin helped her gingerly to her feet. She collapsed onto him, burying her face in his shabby robes. "How the hell was I supposed to know that? I don't know anything about how your damn magic works!"

Before Harry could open his mouth to retort, Lupin cleared his throat loudly. "Er… Harry?" he asked slowly, eyeing Ichigo warily, "Who is this?"

Harry's face turned an odd shade of puce. "Um… w-well, that's, um, that's my c-cousin I-Ichigo."

Moody frowned, the deep scars on his face twisting in odd directions. The magical eye stared fixedly at the redhead, as though looking for something. "The visiting cousin from Japan? Arabella Figg said she'd seen him leave with his family for London yesterday. What's he still doing here?"

"Er… I don't know," Harry admitted, regarding his cousin curiously as though having just realized this. "I thought I saw you leave, too. What _are_ you still doing here?"

Ichigo frowned. "Research."

"Research on how to best kill Harry, no doubt," piped up a man in a violet top hat.

Moody silenced him with a glare. "And what is it you're researching?"

Ichigo snorted. "What reason could Seireitei possibly have for wanting to off a human teenager? Besides, if they wanted him dead, they'd have sent Soifon and the Onmitsukidou. I'm not exactly that good at subtlety," he said, indicating Zangetsu and his vivid hair. "So no, I have no desire to kill Potter. I'm under orders to investigate the abominations that appeared here on Tuesday evening. Dementors, I think they're called."

"Under orders from whom?" Moody asked suspiciously.

"Ukitake Juushirou-soutaichou."

"So if you're supposed to be investigating these 'abominations,' as you call them, why are you still here?" wondered Lupin.

Ichigo grimaced. "Because Potter here is the only lead we have right now," he said, jerking his thumb in the black-haired teen's direction. "Until one of my contacts comes through, there isn't much more I can do than follow him around in case one of them shows up again."

Lupin nodded. "Alright then. Harry," he said, turning to the boy standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, "Why don't you go and pack your things? We'll be leaving shortly. And keep your broom out, we'll be flying there."

Harry nodded and made his way back up the staircase, the formerly-purple-haired woman following close behind, muttering something along the lines of 'I'll help him pack.' She shot Ichigo a furtive look as she passed, before vanishing up the stairs after Harry.

The second the pair were out of sight, the remaining wizards rounded on Ichigo. "Now, let's talk seriously," Moody began, advancing on him with his wand raised, fixing him with his best odd-eyed glare. The boy didn't even flinch. "Who are you?"

The gobantai taichou scowled. "My name is Ichigo Kurosaki, Captain of the Fifth Division of the Imperial Guard of the Seireitei."

"Try again," Moody growled, his wand inching closer. "You can't be Kurosaki, Arabella Figg saw him leave this house and board a taxi for London yesterday. There aren't that many redheads what live on Privet Drive, so unless she was very much mistaken—"

"I _did_ leave yesterday," Ichigo interrupted. "My body left the premises of Number Four at about two yesterday afternoon."

"And yet you're still here."

"Of course. Rather useful inventions aren't they, artificial souls?"

The assembled group of wizards recoiled as though struck. "'Artificial soul?'" an elderly witch repeated, sounding horrified. "What's that?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," Ichigo replied offhandedly. "Souls created to serve a specific purpose, namely inhabit and animate whatever body they're put in. Kon's a mod soul – combat model, ambush class if I remember rightly – but he works pretty damn well as a soul replacement whenever I need to leave my body."

A shiver ran through the crowd. "Who are you?" Lupin asked, sounding unnerved.

"We've been through this. My name is Ichigo Kuro—"

Moody's wand sparked threateningly. "Shut up, boy, and answer me seriously. _What_ are you? You obviously aren't human."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow skeptically. "What makes you say that?"

The grizzled wizard laughed harshly. "There's no fooling me, boy. I never met a _human _with power quite like yours. Not to mention the fact that I've traveled all over the world and I've never seen magic like what you used to block our stunners. So that all begs the question: _what are you_, boy?"

The captain chuckled darkly. "You're very clever, jii-san. Avalon will be lucky to have you. I don't suppose there's any chance of luring over to Japan, is there?" He smirked. "Gomen, jii-san, but I can't tell you. My kind has to be careful about who we reveal ourselves to. I guess it's part of that whole 'maintaining the balance' thing. I'm sure you wizards understand the importance of secrecy," he added, raising a sardonic eyebrow at Moody.

"So you admit you're not human?" asked the man in the purple hat, glaring at Ichigo suspiciously.

He shrugged. "I think that depends on your definition of human."

Moody jabbed him in the side. "Stop playing games, boy. Why did you attack us?"

"I don't know anything about your spells. For all I knew, whatever spell she used might have been your equivalent of Kurohitsugi. I've learned not to take chances with kidou – gomen, _magic _users. It usually gets you killed. I admit I probably overreacted, but I'd rather attack and be mistaken than not attack and be dead."

Lupin nodded. "That's… understandable," he said, his voice sounding strained. "And, if I might ask, what is your interest in Harry? Surely following around a teenage boy isn't the best method for gathering information on dementors," he added, nodding in the direction of the stairwell. "So then why…?"

Ichigo's scowl darkened. "…I'm worried. Those… _things_ were sent after him by someone or someones unknown. It was a deliberate attack on his life and, more importantly, his soul. I'm not some punk who'll just abandon family and friends when they're in danger. I won't leave family – no matter how distantly we're related – to fend for themselves. Not when I can do something about it."

None of the wizards seemed to know what to say to that. Lupin had just opened his mouth to speak when a loud clattering sounded upstairs, and Harry and the formerly-purple-then-white-and-now-bubblegum-pink-haired witch thumped down the stairs, Harry's broom over his shoulder and his school trunk and Hedwig's cage floating in the air behind them.

"…yeah, it's got great acceleration – you know, zero to one-fifty in about ten seconds. Absolutely incredible feeling, it is. Not to mention it reacts to the slightest—" Harry broke off mid-sentence, glancing curiously between Ichigo and the assembled wizards, most of whom still had their wands pointed at the orangehead. "Er… did we miss something?"

"Not at all," Lupin said easily, smiling. "Just a friendly chat. Got everything? All ready to go?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Where are we going, anyway? The Burrow?"

"Not the Burrow, it's too risky. We've set up headquarters somewhere undetectable. It's taken a while…"

"It's nearly time for the signal," grunted Moody, checking an odd watch with twelve hands. "We need to head out into the garden, time to get ready. Just one thing first," he said, raising his wand and tapping Harry over the head with it. Ichigo tensed slightly at the action. "Don't worry boy, it's just a disillusionment spell. Lupin says he's got an invisibility cloak, but that won't stay on in the air. This is the next best thing."

Ichigo blinked, then snorted in amusement. "Aa, I see, jii-san. I've seen a lot over the years, but I've got to admit, I've never seen a human-shaped coat rack before."

A few in the circle of wizards got a small laugh out of that before heading out the back door and into the garden. Ichigo followed.

"Clear night," Moody muttered, his electric-blue eye swiveling around in its socket. "Could've used a bit more cloud cover… Right. Listen closely, Potter. We'll be flying in close formation. Tonks—" he nodded at the pink-haired woman from before, "—Will be flying right in front of you, so keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below, and I'll be behind you. The rest will be circling our formation, and they won't break ranks for anything. Understood? If we're attacked—"

"Keep going and I'll hold the attackers off," Ichigo interrupted, crossing his arms defiantly and leaning back against the garden fence. "I'll catch up to you later."

Moody rounded on him. "And just what makes you think you're coming with us, boy?"

Ichigo shrugged. "You wizards are my only lead, remember? Besides," he added in an undertone, "Potter is family."

Lupin frowned. "How do you plan on following us without a broom?"

He smirked. "You'll find out soon enough. By the way, I think that was your signal," he said, pointing up to the sky, where a shower of red sparks had appeared among the stars.

Lupin swore softly. "Everyone! Mount your brooms!"

They did so, looking rather ridiculous in Ichigo's opinion. Harry looked eagerly up at the sky, his broom practically vibrating beneath him, excited at the prospect of being in the air again.

"That's the second signal!" Lupin shouted as another set of sparks, green this time, flared in the night sky. "Let's move!"

Harry kicked off from the ground, relishing the feeling of the air rushing through his hair again. It had been ages since the last time he had flown… The manicured lawns of Privet Drive fell away beneath him, and for one glorious, shining moment, it felt like he had left all his problems – Voldemort, the hearing, Dumbledore's stony silence – behind him at Number Four. He did a roll in midair and let out a great whoop of joy that disappeared into the howling of wind and the flapping of wizard's robes.

"Having fun?"

Harry's head turned so fast he could have sworn he heard a crack in his neck, and his broom dropped a few feet in shock. There was Ichigo, half a mile up in the sky, keeping pace easily with his cousin and running as naturally as though he had been on solid ground rather that thin air. Moody glared at the orangehead darkly, and the circling rescue-party members gaped openly.

"You – how—" Harry spluttered, eyes round as saucers. "How'd you get up here?"

Ichigo only smirked before jumping ahead to adjust one of the ropes binding Harry's trunk to the pink-haired woman's broom.

Harry shook his head in bewilderment. The group kept moving, altering their course every few minutes as per Moody's directions. Harry shivered; his hands felt like they had been coated in ice. It seemed like they had been flying for hours…

"We ought to double back for a bit, just to make sure we're not being followed," Moody suggested. "Everyone! Make a hard one-eighty—"

"Are you _insane_, jii-san?" Ichigo hissed in his ear, and Moody's head whipped around to find himself face-to-face with a pair of oddly luminous yellow eyes. "Keep them going like this and I'll be doing a lot of konsou tonight. This is supposed to be a vacation, dammit!"

"Time to start the decent!" Lupin shouted, pointing towards the largest patch of light yet. "Follow Tonks, Harry!"

They descended in a steep dive, the lights becoming more defined as they flew, until Harry could make out individual streetlights and car lamps, and catch glimpses of ordinary people going about their evening business through jewel-bright windows. He was eager to reach the ground; much as he loved flying, he much preferred it in the daytime. And in warm weather. And _not_ half a mile from the ground.

They landed in an unkempt park near a row of very dirty houses, several of which had broken doors and shattered windows that glittered dully in the orange light of the streetlamps. Harry touched down beside Tonks, who was already busy unbuckling and untying Harry's trunk. Ichigo stepped out of the air next to him, looking around. His gaze flickered curiously between the open upstairs window of Number Eleven and the space between it and Number Thirteen beside it.

"Where are we?" Harry wondered aloud. Moody hissed for him to be quiet, pulling what looked like a silver cigarette lighter from his cloak. With a click, the nearest streetlight went out with a pop. Another click, and the next lamp went out. Several clicks later the park was completely dark, the only light coming from the windows of Number Eleven and the dim light of Moody's wand.

"That the place, jii-san?" Ichigo murmured, his eyes locked on the space between Numbers Eleven and Thirteen. "It's practically glowing. Ought to be more careful."

Moody scowled, making a mental note to ask what the orangehead meant later. "Come here, boy," he growled, tugging Harry across the park and onto the sidewalk. "Read quickly and memorize." He shoved a tiny scrap of parchment into Harry's face and held his lit wand aloft, enabling the boy to read the thin, loopy handwriting by its dim light.

'_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London_.'

"What's the Order of—?" Harry wondered aloud, but several loud hisses silenced him almost immediately.

"Not here," whispered Lupin, while Moody snatched back the parchment and set it alight, the burning embers leaving glowing streaks across Harry's eyes as they fell. "We'll explain later. Think about what you've just read."

"But there's no—"

"There is," Ichigo said, smirking slightly. "You just can't see it."

"_Think_, Harry."

Harry did, and the second he reached the bit about Number Twelve, a peeling black door appeared out of thin air, followed almost immediately by the dingy façade of what had plainly once been a fine manor, but one that had long since fallen into a deep state of disrepair.

Harry gaped. Ichigo's smirk widened. "Knew it."

"Get in," Moody growled, shoving Harry towards the door. "And keep quiet."

The group moved silently up the crumbling steps. Lupin tapped it with his wand, and with a long series of loud, metal _clinks_ that echoed from within the building, the door creaked open. They shuffled inside, and the instant the last person – Ichigo – stepped over the threshold, the door swung shut behind him with a deep, reverberating _thud_, plunging the group into darkness.

"Come here," Moody growled, tapping Harry hard over the head with his wand. The disillusionment charm lifted. "Now stay still, and don't touch anything." He flicked his wand at the walls, and a second later several gas lamps flared with a soft hissing noise, illuminating the dingy hallway.

_Lovely_ _place_, Ichigo commented, surveying the room. The thin, wavering light illuminated the peeling walls, molding carpet and dirty furniture, all of which seemed to somehow manage to incorporate twisting serpents into their designs. A pair of moth-eaten curtains fluttered as if caught in a slight breeze, though the musty air was quite still. _Very_ _nice_.

Shiro snorted. _Aa. Place like this could give Las Noches a run fer it's money fer 'Creepiest Place in the Worlds.'_

The sound of running footsteps sounded from further down the hall, and a woman with vivid red hair appeared, panting and slightly out of breath. "Oh, Harry dear, it's wonderful to see you again!" she said quietly, pulling him into a hug. Ichigo winced sympathetically as Harry's face began to turn blue – he had been on the receiving end of Inoue's bone-cracking hugs often enough to know what it felt like to slowly have the life crushed out of you (affectionately, of course).

"Er – hi, Mrs. Weasley," he choked out.

She smiled, releasing him from her death grip. "Honestly, you just keep losing weight. One of these days you're going to just wither away and then where will we be?" She sighed. "We'll have to feed you, but it'll have to wait I'm afraid. Now come along, I'll show you to your room." She pushed Harry in the general direction of the large staircase at the far end of the hall. "Come along quickly, we don't want to wake anything… They've just arrived," she added in an undertone to the group of wizards. "The meeting's already started."

They murmured interestedly and made their way to the door the red haired woman had emerged from. Ichigo paused, indecisive. Should he follow his new leads? Or stay with his cousin? Duty or family?

His dilemma was answered for him when Moody jabbed him in the side, indicating for him to follow the group into the side room. "Get in." At Ichigo's questioning eyebrow, he laughed. "You didn't seriously expect to waltz straight into the headquarters of a covert organization, after tailing its rescue party for miles, _after_ attacking one of its most prominent and respected members and get away with it did you? Now get inside."

"…giants are still underway," a greasy-haired man was saying from a podium at the front of the room. "The death of Gurg Karkus has sent the entire tribe into a frenzy. It is still unknown whether Karkus' replacement will favor Macnair's—"

Moody marched Ichigo through the door and snapped it shut behind them. "Ne, jii-san, stop poking me, I can't heal bruises, dammit," he muttered, shoving away the man's wand. He suddenly became very aware of a very, _very_ tense silence that had filled the room. Ichigo looked up to find the entirety of the 'covert organization' as Moody had called it, some thirty or forty wizards and witches, all staring at him with wide eyes.

"Ano… yo?"

* * *

_Useful Translations: _

_jii-: old man_

_yo: informal greeting; hey, hi, etc._

* * *

_Greetings to you all._

_As promised, here is chapter three. I can only pray it has lived up to everyone's expectations._

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Exclamated, willi890, Escapedslave99, Corisanna, KianaNic, Jiyle, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, TsukiakariNoMichi, JessieKage, wind daffodil kyuuketsuki-san, FanFictionFan345, Fat ppl are harder to kidnap, Kuro-Ookami4, JNottle, dragonXXforte, PantheramonX, and Basia Orci for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks._

_Now, I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that this is the last of the two/three-day updates. Not because I have nothing else written, but rather because I would prefer to maintain a paranoidly large buffer zone between posted chapters and typed/edited chapters. This means that the next update will be around the time I finish chapter sixteen... whenever that will be. I cannot give you an exact date, because I don't _know_ how my schedule will work out in the next few weeks. Sadly, this little thing called 'real life' tends to interfere with the writing process. My apologies._

_This does, however, bring me to the good news. A chapter takes approximately six weeks to write, so this story will most likely be updated in that time period. If, however, I fail to complete a new chapter in that time, I will _still_ post the next chapter after eight weeks. This means that _there will most definately be updates every two months_, or possibly earlier._

_I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I figure regular updates - even if there is a long wait between them - are preferable to sporadic ones. If for some reason there isn't a new chapter after two months, feel free to bring out the torches and pitchforks._

_I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love,  
Nesarna  
10/8__/10_

_

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_

_EDIT: NEVERMIND, THE ABOVE IS VOID AS OF 10/10/10. __-Nesarna_


	4. Interview with the Reaper

**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes._**

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine._**

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Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Fourth

-0-

Absolute silence filled the hall for about five seconds before a great clamoring arose from the crowd, all of whom were shouting to their neighbors and across the room, casting furtive and fearful looks in Ichigo's direction.

"Who is that? What's—"

"—_How_ did he—"

"—Bloody hell—"

"— But the Fidelius Charm—"

"—Not _supposed_—"

"—You-Know-Who's followers—"

"—Is that a _sword_? What the—"

"—Dumbledore always said—"

"—Some sort of attack—"

The greasy-haired man rolled his eyes in exasperation. "SILENCE!" he roared, and immediately the hall fell quiet.

An elderly man with long silver hair and beard in the chair next to him cleared his throat loudly. "Thank you, Severus," he said, nodding to the greasy-haired man. "Alastor, would you be so kind as to introduce you guest?"

Moody grunted. "Kid goes by the name of Ichigo Kurosaki, claims to be a relative of Potter's. He followed us back here from Little Whinging."

The elderly man's eyes narrowed. "I see," he murmured. He turned to face the rest of the crowd. "I'm afraid we will have to cut the meeting short tonight. Thank you all for your time. Same time for the next meeting." The crowd began to file out, steering well clear of Ichigo on their way past him and out the door.

"Severus, Minerva, Sirius, Remus – come with me, please," he called, and four people stayed behind; the greasy-haired man, a tall, stern-looking witch, a gaunt, black-haired man, and the shabbily dressed wizard from the rescue party. They followed the elderly man through a door hidden in the back wall.

Ichigo scowled when Moody poked him in the side again. "Come on," he growled, marching the captain at wand-point through the door and then through a second door inside that one. They emerged in to a dark and dirty room that Ichigo was sure had been a wine cellar at some point, but had since been emptied of its contents. Dusty, cobwebbed shelves lined three of the walls, and the fourth had been cleared to make way for a large glass mirror. A single wooden chair sat in the middle of the room.

"We'll be taking that," Moody said, indicating the sword on Ichigo's back. Ichigo hesitated, debating with himself. He was reluctant to part with his zanpakutou; it would leave him weaponless and in the middle of the headquarters of a semi-hostile group of wizards, all of whom were armed and very probably dangerous. On the other hand, the more diplomatic portion of his brain argued that handing Zangetsu over to the scarred, odd-eyed man would be a strong gesture of goodwill, which might in turn heighten these people's perception of him and therefore make the interrogation and subsequent negotiations go more smoothly. And besides, he was never _truly_ unarmed; there was always Cero.

"Be careful with him, ojii-san," he said at last, handing the sword to Moody. "He's very important to me."

Moody took the hilt and staggered slightly, his normal eye widening imperceptibly. Ichigo smirked slightly. The ease with which he was able to handle his zanpakutou always led others to underestimate Zangetsu's true weight. "He's also very heavy. Be careful not to scratch the blade, he won't like that."

"Right," Moody grumbled, flicking his wand so that the sword hovered in the air beside him. "Wait here."

He backed slowly out of the room, Zangetsu floating behind him. Ichigo winced at the waves of displeasure rolling off the sword as it left the room. He smiled apologetically.

_Gomennasai, ossan. I'll make it up to you later, ne?_

The mental presence of Zangetsu said nothing. Not that Ichigo had been expecting a reply anyway.

-0-

Dumbledore frowned slightly as Moody entered the second room, giant floating sword in tow. "Certainly an interesting individual," he murmured, peering curiously at the orangeheaded teenager through the glass panel. "One must wonder precisely what he is. Do you know how he entered headquarters, Alastor?"

Moody shook his head, directing the hovering sword onto a table at the back of the room. "No idea. He simply walked in after us when Potter materialized Number Twelve. I know for a fact he didn't read the parchment you gave me; he was standing clear on the other side of the park when Potter had it."

The elderly man hmm-ed thoughtfully, not taking his eyes off Ichigo, who had sat down on the single chair and folded his arms across his chest, as though sleeping. "And did he say anything beforehand?"

"He did, as a matter of fact. He seemed to know – he _knew_ – exactly where headquarters was even before Potter materialized it. Said it was 'glowing,' whatever that means."

Snape snorted. "You're getting senile, Moody. That's impossible."

"It's not _impossible_, Severus," said Dumbledore mildly, "Since evidently it _has_ happened. It is simply very, very improbable."

Sirius frowned. "What exactly does that mean?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled over his half-moon spectacles. "As I'm sure you are all aware, the Fidelius Charm operates by sealing a desired object or place in a pocket dimension," he began. "The information required to access this dimension is known only to the Secret-Keeper – myself, in this case – which is why only the Secret-Keeper can reveal the secret, and why the place is completely undetectable in the material world. Even though the pocket dimension is completely cut off from the material world, it still leaves its mark – a magical residue, if you will, that is normally invisible to wizards and Muggles alike.

"However, there exist rarely individuals who are able to quite literally _see_ – or at least sense – this residue, thus enabling entry into the pocket world once the entryway is materialized. It is my guess that Mr. Kurosaki is one of those individuals. It could have certainly been much worse; I suspect he may have been able to pry open the entrance while it was still hidden, if he'd chosen to."

"Albus," said McGonagall slowly, "Exactly how common are these people?"

"Rare enough for their existence to be negligible," Dumbledore admitted. "I believe the last person to gain any notoriety for the ability was Merlin himself."

A rather shocked silence followed this statement.

"Of course," he continued blithely, "His ability makes it so we must keep a very, _very_ close eye on him at all times. He _cannot_ fall under Voldemort's control."

"Couldn't we just Obliviate him and call it a day?" Sirius suggested, glancing through the mirror. "I mean, he'd never have a reason to come back to this neighborhood of London, so there's no risk of him finding this place again—"

But Dumbledore shook his head. "A sound idea in principle, but unfortunately the fact remains that Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as Voldemort certainly is. No, we cannot let him go."

"In any case, I'm not sure a Memory Charm would work on him," Lupin murmured, staring intently through the glass.

"What do you mean, Remus?" McGonagall asked.

"The boy practically admitted to not being human," Moody growled. "He wouldn't say exactly what he was, but he definitely hinted at it, and memory charms are notoriously ineffective against most of the Greater Beings."

Lupin shivered. "The wolf fears him," he said quietly. "The wolf fears him so much that it wants me to flee, run away and never look back. All its instincts are screaming '_danger, danger, predator, get away'_…" He shivered again. "It's difficult to resist. Whatever he is, he's powerful. Scarily so."

Sirius patted his friend on the back sympathetically. "Don't worry Moony; we won't let him get you."

Snape snorted derisively. "As though _you_ would be able to do anything, Black."

Sirius rounded on him. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean, Snivellus?"

"Against a monster even the _werewolf_ fears? Your little animagus trick won't help you—"

"_Enough_, Severus, Sirius," said Dumbledore quietly, but in a tone that brooked no argument. "We have enough trouble on our hands as it is; please do not add to it by fighting amongst ourselves."

They both fell silent immediately.

Dumbledore turned to Moody. "Did he display any other abilities, Alastor?"

The gnarled old wizard nodded. "Yeah. The boy seems to have the power to vanish and reappear at will. He appeared out of nowhere when he attacked Tonks. He also has the ability to walk on air – I have no idea how he does it, but that's how he managed to follow us from Little Whinging—"

"Walk on the _air_, Moody?"

Moody nodded. "Yes. He ran next to Potter the entire flight. He also displayed the ability to use a rudimentary form of magic, one that, frankly, I've never seen before in my life."

"What sort of magic, Alastor?" Dumbledore asked quietly into the silence that followed this pronouncement.

"I don't know its category. It was some sort of powerful shielding spell, but he didn't use a wand. It repelled eight stunning spells easily."

"The incantation was 'Bakudou no Hachijuuichi, Danku,'" supplied Lupin. "It's not a spell I'm familiar with."

Dumbledore frowned. "I don't know what 'Bakudou' or 'Danku' is, but from what little I remember of my Japanese, 'hachijuuichi' is the number eighty-one."

"Are there any magic systems in the world that number their spells?" Sirius wondered aloud.

"I believe a numbered system was in place in ancient China, but that was thousands and thousands of years ago," Dumbledore murmured, looking thoughtful. "It's long forgotten; _how_ he could have learned it… Was there anything else?"

Moody grunted. "He didn't show any other powers, though I doubt he showed us the full extent of them. But…" he trailed off, thinking. "Something was odd about how he introduced himself. 'Ichigo Kurosaki, Captain of the Fifth Division of the Imperial Guard of the Seireitei.' Beats me what that means, though. Sounds like some sort of military order, if you ask me."

"Do you have any idea of what the boy might be, Albus?" McGonagall asked after a moment, glancing through the mirror.

"I haven't any idea in the slightest," Dumbledore said brightly, his eyes twinkling. "Which is precisely why I shall go and ask him. Minerva, Severus, please come with me. Would the rest of you please be so kind as to stay here and observe? Thank you."

-0-

Ichigo blinked rapidly, trying to clear his thoughts as the elderly wizard entered the room, followed by the stern-looking witch and greasy-haired man. He bowed hastily, scooting over to offer the lone seat to the old man, but he shook his head and withdrew a long stick from somewhere inside his lurid purple robes.

"Not to worry, not to worry," he said, and with a flick of his wand, conjured three squashy chintz armchairs out of the air, which fell to the dirt floor with a soft _thwump_. He sat down, and gestured for Ichigo to do the same. "My name is Albus Dumbledore," he began, smiling pleasantly. "Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And these are Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape, the professors of Transfiguration and Potions, respectively. Would it trouble you too severely if we asked you a few questions?"

Ichigo shook his head slightly. His head felt odd, like some sort of pressure was being applied to it… "I'll only answer your questions if you answer mine."

"You're in no position to be making demands, boy," spat the greasy-haired one, his eyes boring into Ichigo's. The pain redoubled. He could feel his Hollow stirring somewhere in the depths of his mind; Shiro's reiatsu flared, and the pain vanished at once. The man flinched imperceptibly, but ploughed on. "_You_ are the intruder here; there is no reason for—"

"That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore mildly. "If we agree to your terms, Mr.…?"

"Kurosaki."

"Mr. Kurosaki. Do you agree to answer all our questions to the best of your ability?"

Ichigo paused. Agreeing to the man's terms would be another strong gesture of goodwill, and he certainly didn't want to get on the wizards' bad side. However, it might also put him in a position where he would be forced to reveal sensitive information… "Only if you agree to the same."

"In that case, I think we have reached an accord," Dumbledore said brightly. "I'll ask the first question. How did you enter this place?"

Ichigo smirked. "Through the front door."

"Ah. Let me be more specific: How did you _find_ this place? Alastor said you knew where it was before it was even materialized."

"Of course," he said, waving a hand through the air dismissively. "The place is practically _glowing_ to anybody with even a _hint_ of reiryoku."

"And what, pray tell, is reiryoku?" asked McGonagall.

"Spiritual power."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," said Dumbledore. "What does that mean, exactly?"

Ichigo sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Generally speaking, it's a measurement of a person's spiritual awareness," he rattled off from memory, looking bored. "Everybody has it, but most don't have a lot. People with above-average reiryoku have the ability to see and interact with spiritual beings – ghosts, for example. Those of us with high reiryoku are able to use it in the form of various powers and abilities."

"Like the strange spell you used in Number Four?"

Ichigo blinked. "Nani?"

Snape scowled. "Don't play the fool, Kurosaki. You used a shielding spell to block eight powerful stunning spells. What was it?"

"Oh, _that_," he muttered, looking vaguely embarrassed. "That's one example."

"But what _was_ it?"

"Bakudou no Hachijuuichi: Danku," he said, flushing slightly. "I _really_ shouldn't have tried using it indoors, especially without the full incantation… you're lucky it didn't explode or something."

"Where did you learn it?"

"Eh? Ano…" he scratched his head thoughtfully. "I don't really know… Picked it up from somebody somewhere. Probably Hachi-san or Byakuya. Why?"

Dumbeldore's eyes twinkled merrily. "Just idle curiosity, I suppose. You see, numbered magic has been lost for millennia, and unless I am very much mistaken, your spell has a number."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "…Huh. That's interesting."

The old man's smile grew wider. "Why did you follow Alastor in the first place?"

"He has… _information_ I'm interested in," he answered slowly. "I wasn't about to let a potential source of intel get away."

"Information on what?" asked McGonagall.

"The beings that attacked Potter in the alleyway on Tuesday. Dementors," he said irritably. "I've explained this already. My superiors asked me to investigate them."

"Your superiors?" repeated Dumbledore. "Are you in the military, Mr. Kurosaki?"

_Shit. _He already suspected he'd revealed too much information; now the wizards knew there were more beings like him (though they still didn't know _what_ exactly he was). Ichigo hesitated; he couldn't take back what he'd already said. The best he could do was to try and avoid saying anything _else_ damaging…

"Something like that, yes."

"Ah, I see, the 'Imperial Guard' Alastor mentioned," said Dumbledore brightly, and Ichigo scowled, silently cursing himself for being so bad at keeping secrets. There was a _reason_ he didn't work well with the Onmitsukidou… So much for that plan. There was no helping it now; he might as well just go with it. In for a penny, in for a pound and all that. "I don't suppose there's any chance of contacting them to confirm your story?"

Ichigo snorted. "You can try, but I doubt it. It's not exactly easy to arrange personal meetings with the soutaichou." He sighed tiredly. "Tell you what. I have to deliver my report in a few days. When I see Ukitake-san, I'll ask if he'd be willing to meet with you. If I receive orders to continue the investigation, of course."

"And if you don't?"

"Then someone will probably come and pay you a visit, and you'll forget all about me. We'll never bother you again."

"Why would your… military want information on dementors in the first place?" wondered McGonagall aloud.

Ichigo leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Do you want the straight version or the one you'll actually understand?" He sighed bitterly. "You want to know? Fine. Their reiatsu matches _nothing_ in our databanks. Thirteen thousand years' worth of records and we don't have _anything_ that looks like them. _Nothing_. They're _abominations_. Spiritual beings, neither ordinary souls nor Hollow nor Shinigami nor demonic or even _fucking artificial_. _They should not exist_. They're like nothing we've ever seen before. They prey on human souls but are _completely different_ from Hollows. Avalon might not be willing to deal with them, but I'll be damned if I let them run around and hurt my family _or_ my friends."

The wizards remained silent for a moment. "Your family? Does that include Harry?" asked the old man quietly.

"When I received these powers, I promised myself that I wouldn't let them get hurt. Not if I could do something about it. I'll be damned if I go back on that now," Ichigo repeated vehemently. "Family is family."

Dumbledore surveyed the redheaded teenager with an unreadable expression. "How old are you, Mr. Kurosaki?"

"Nani?" Ichigo blinked, thrown off by the abrupt change in topic. "Ano…" he tilted his head back, as though trying to remember.

"It's an easy question, boy," sneered Snape. "How old are you?"

"Urusai," he muttered angrily, glaring at the greasy-haired man. "In answer to your question, I'm thirty-one years old."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. "You can't be serious. You don't look a day over fifteen."

"Sixteen, actually," he said mildly. "Sixteen years, one month and nineteen days. That's when I stopped aging."

McGonagall gaped openly. "And how did you manage to do _that_?"

Ichigo shrugged noncommittally. "I… Shit happened. My kind… we don't age very quickly."

"And what exactly _are_ 'your kind?'" asked Dumbledore over the top of his half-moon glasses. "You've never quite said… personally, I'm at a loss. It's fairly obvious you aren't human – or at least, not _completely_ human – but I can't think of any sort of magical creature you might be. The closest I can think of are vampires, but you look nothing like one of those. I apologize for my lack of tact, but I must ask: what _are_ you, Mr. Kurosaki?"

He scowled and ran a weary hand through his hair. There was no avoiding it now, not if he wished to uphold his end of the deal. It was bound to come out eventually, anyway. He looked Dumbledore straight in the eye and said, "Do you swear that you will not repeat a word of what I am about to tell you to _anyone_ outside this room?"

"Yes."

"The same goes for your subordinates. The ones here and the ones behind that window," he added, jerking his thumb towards the mirror. "I won't hesitate to silence anyone who talks. By force, if necessary."

McGonagall looked horrified, but Dumbledore smiled benignly. "I can make no promises for them, but rest assured they will not spread your secrets. They know not to discuss such information in places where untrustworthy ears might be listening."

"Good." Ichigo leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "You said earlier that I wasn't human," he began after a moment. "But that's only partially true. I'm still human—"

"Stop contradicting yourself," Snape growled. "You're not making any sense at—"

Ichigo's reiatsu flared, silencing the man. "_Urusai_," he hissed, glaring daggers at the hook-nosed man, who now seemed to be having trouble getting enough oxygen into his lungs. "Do you want me to explain or not?" He shook his head, and the air seemed to lighten. "I'm still human, in a sense. I was human to begin with – I think, I've no idea how the damn genetics work – but… well, I'm not _as_ human as I was. I've… gone _past_ what the standard definition of 'human' is."

"Please, continue," Dumbledore said. "I do not understand. How can you be human, yet not human?"

The teen's shoulders sagged resignedly. "I am a Shinigami." That was a lie, actually. He'd never been a Shinigami in the proper sense of the term, but explaining what a 'Vaizard' was would probably fry the poor wizards' brains. He was undoing enough of their world-order as it was.

"We do not understand," said Dumbledore slowly. "What is a Shinigami?"

"A Shinigami is a… _was_ a normal human with an exceptionally high level of reiryoku," he explained, speaking slowly for once so as to avoid revealing too much. The vaguer he could make his explanation, the better. "There's more to it than that, but that's the simplest answer. Our job – well, short answer is we're peacekeepers. Regulators. We control the flow of souls in the world, in order to keep the balance the same."

"There are _more_ of you out there?" spluttered McGonagall. "How many?"

"Eh? Ano… I don't know. Around three thousand, I think. Most of us work for the Goteijuusantai, the Onmitsukidou, the Kidoushuu, or even the Gijutsukaihatsu Kyoku. A lot are privately employed, too – but that's just our district. And there are about sixty of those, so… overall, I'd guess a couple hundred thousand, maybe."

The wizards exchanged nervous glances. Several _thousand_ more people who could easily find their headquarters? Perhaps Number Twelve was not as well-protected as they thought…

"Don't worry," Ichigo continued quickly, as though sensing their unease. "Most of us make it a policy _not_ to interfere with the land of the living; mortals tend to try and get involved once they know what's going on. You're not likely to have some Shinigami knocking on your door any time soon."

They looked marginally happier at that.

"Can I ask you a question, Dumbledore-san?" Ichigo asked after a moment. "Unless you have something else you want to ask."

The old man shook his head, silver beard shining in the candlelight. "Certainly, certainly. I daresay we have more questions for you, but none that are very pressing at the moment. Ask away."

Ichigo leaned back in his chair, thinking. "What is this place?" he said at last. "What's the point of all the secrecy?"

Dumbledore exchanged a look with the other wizards. "The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Order of the whatsit?" The Shinigami blinked in confusion. "Gomen ne, ojii-san. Should I know what that is?"

The headmaster smiled merrily. "No, no, of course you wouldn't. We're a secret society, dedicated to the defeat of Dark wizard Voldemort."

Something clicked in the back of Ichigo's mind. "The one who wants Potter dead."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes."

"From what I understand, this Voldemort bastard tried to kill Potter, but ended up killing himself instead."

"That is correct. The Avada Kedavra curse rebounded off Harry and back on its originator."

"How does that curse work? Potter says it's unblockable, but what does it _do_?"

"It causes death," Snape sneered, as though he thought the so-called Shinigami a complete idiot for not knowing. "_Instantaneous_ _death_. The curse doesn't leave a mark, no signs of trauma or anything of that sort. The target just _dies_. That's it."

Ichigo looked thoughtful. "There's only a few things I know of that can do that," he said finally, addressing Dumbledore. "Forced removal of the soul does something similar – when it's empty, the body is essentially a corpse, and it'll rot away if you let it. But in that case, the soul is still bound to the body by its Chain of Fate, and it's easy to just step back in. Simply removing the soul won't kill you permanently. But if the kusari is broken…" he trailed off, his eyes going wide. "Chikushou. If he severed his own Chain, how the hell did he manage to come back?" He started pacing agitatedly, ignoring the apprehensive looks on the wizards' faces. "When did he die?"

Dumbledore blinked in confusion. "A little less than fourteen years ago," he answered slowly. "Why?"

Ichigo stopped dead in his tracks. "That's impossible. It only takes a few years for the Chain to corrode entirely, ten at most. He'd—" he stared directly at the elderly headmaster, his expression dark. "You're keeping tabs on him, right? Watching him? Has he been doing anything weird lately? Hanging around a lot of graveyards, scenes of accidents, that sort of thing? Gone missing for long periods of time? _Anything_?"

Dumbledore glanced at Snape, who shook his head. "Not that I am aware of," he said warily. "Nor that anyone has told me. But then I cannot watch him all the time, and the others may simply have ignored any odd behavior, or not thought it particularly unusual…"

"Why do you ask, Mr. Kurosaki?" asked Dumbledore.

Ichigo swore and resumed his pacing. "This is impossible. Even if he resisted – which hurts like hell, by the way – he'd still have turned into a Hollow in a few years – sometimes it takes bit longer, but… If he became a demi-Hollow, he'd still have been fully transformed within a decade. Either way, Avalon would've sent someone to hunt him down, or buried the bastard before he got that far. Unless he managed to evade them… Shit." He ran a tired hand through his hair. "You're positive he hasn't done anything weird lately?"

Snape sneered. "I am _quite_ sure, Kurosaki."

"Do you feel anything when you're near him? A sense of unease, terror, a desire to run like hell?"

The greasy-haired potionsmaster rolled his eyes. "Only the sort one normally experiences when facing a man who tortures and kills his own subordinates for the mere pleasure of it."

"When do you see him next?" Ichigo shook his head. "Never mind. When you do – _shit_. I need to talk to Urahara." He stopped pacing and stared blankly at his own wild expression in the mirror. "Shimatta."

"What is the problem?" asked Dumbledore quietly.

With a great shuddering breath, Ichigo calmed down enough to turn and face the headmaster, his expression dark. "You… you may be dealing with a Hollow that's managed to get itself a gigai, a false body. I don't think this bastard's human anymore."

None of them quite knew what to say to that. "What is a Hollow?" McGonagall asked after a pause.

"They're—" Ichigo broke off, wondering how best to put it. "They're sort of like Shinigami, but with a few key differences. Sort of our antithesis, if you will. Shinigami draw their power from inside themselves, whereas Hollows have to take it in from another source, usually other souls. Hollows also have a tendency to act and fight on instinct, rather than logic or technique, and that makes them much more dangerous. Even low-level ones are a threat to ordinary people, and they only get stronger the higher up their evolution line you go. Hell, _ten_ Vasto Lordes could wipe out the entire Seireitei!" He shook his head. "If you're dealing with a Hollow, especially one that's been allowed to get stronger for the past fourteen years, you're in serious trouble. You won't be able to defeat it. If that's the case… you'd best let Avalon handle it."

Snape bristled. "Do you think so badly of us that you think we can't handle a simple creature—?"

"Did you miss the part where I said Hollows have to take their power from another source?" the Shinigami interrupted, glaring at the potionsmaster and ignoring the renewed discomfort in his head. "Did you even stop to think what that that food source might be?" He shook his head despairingly. "_They_ _eat_ _souls_, dumbass. You _really_ think you can handle soul-eating –"

McGonagall frowned. "Excuse me, Mr. Kurosaki, but we already have ways of countering dementors. They're both… Wouldn't that also work on these… Hollows of yours?"

"Not necessarily," Ichigo said. "Hollows have a totally different reiatsu than those things. Maybe the Patronus spell would work on them, maybe not. I have no idea how Hollows will react to your spells, and I don't particularly want to test it at the moment.

"In any case, this is all theoretical at this point," he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Maybe Lord Whatsisname isn't a Hollow. Maybe he's using some sort of magic to keep himself from being consumed… You know more about your magic than I do, Dumbledore-san. Are there any sorts of spells that can keep a person alive, even after death? Or I suppose it would be more accurate to ask if there's anything that can keep the soul tied to a person or place after the body dies. Is there?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Nothing that comes immediately to mind," he admitted. "Though I shall be sure to research the possibility…" he trailed off thoughtfully, then clapped his hands together and smiled cheerfully. "Well then, I suppose that's enough for tonight. Minerva, Severus, come with me please."

The elderly headmaster rose and walked over to the door of the dingy room, McGonagall following closely behind. Snape hesitated, half-way out of his chintz armchair, scrutinizing the Shinigami carefully, and then he too made to leave.

"Oi!" Ichigo called, scowling darkly. "When do I get my zanpakutou back?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly. "When we're done examining it, of course."

And with that, he left the room.

-0-

Moody didn't look up as the three professors entered the dark side room.

"Well, _that_ was unexpected," he growled, his magical eye never leaving the scowling teenager next door. "A Shinigami, eh?" He turned to face the old headmaster with his normal eye. "Any clue what that might be, Dumbledore?"

"None whatsoever," said the old man happily, as though it were not at all a rather troubling fact. "Do you have any ideas, Remus?" he asked, glancing at their resident expert – Hagrid being _in absentia_ at the moment – of magical fauna.

Remus shook his head slowly, wide-eyed and staring blankly at the glass window. "…No…"

Sirius glanced worriedly at his friend. "Is something the matter, Moony?"

Lupin shuddered. "I… it's just… he… he's _dead_, Padfoot."

Sirius blinked intelligently. "Huh?"

"The boy's a _soul_, Padfoot. Like a… like a _ghost_. He's got to be… he _died_. Padfoot, he was only Harry's age, and… he's _dead_."

That thought sent a cold shiver running through Sirius' spine, and he swallowed uncomfortably. It only made sense that beings who regulated the traffic of spirits would have to be spirits themselves. "Oh, yeah… I guess so."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Regardless of whether or not the brat has a pulse, there's still the matter of what to do with him."

McGonagall looked up from where she had been peering through the glass. "What would you propose we do?"

The potionsmaster smirked. "Kill him, of course," he said, as though the answer was obvious. "Or at the very least seal him. He's dangerous. He's a threat to our operation, to our_ lives_. It would be downright idiotic to—"

"Not necessarily, Snape," growled Moody from the corner, staring at the man with his normal eye, his magical one still firmly fixed on the teen beyond the glass, who had pulled out some sort of tiny black device. "He could be useful. The boy has military experience; if he'd be willing to work with us, we'd gain a very, very powerful new ally."

McGonagall frowned. "I'd have thought that you of all people, Moody, would be against the boy staying."

Moody shrugged. "He has all the hallmarks of a natural-born warrior. He's strong, and even more importantly, he's willing to use that strength to protect those important to him. The Order could use people like that."

Sirius frowned. "Even so—" he began, but Moody cut him off.

"There's also a tactical advantage if we let the boy stay," the grizzled wizard continued. "His powers are like nothing I've ever seen before; that gives us the element of surprise over the Dark Lord. Through his military connections, he has access to intelligence that we could never get, surveillance, research… the possibilities are practically limitless. Not to mention, of course, the possibility he mentioned, that the Dark Lord is no longer human. If he's right – and we don't know he is for certain, but he _might_ be – we'd probably have a difficult time countering him. The boy could be useful to us."

Lupin shook his head violently. "He's only _sixteen_—"

"Not according to him, he isn't. According to him, he's over seventeen, and therefore eligible to join the Order. Besides, you saw what happened back in Little Whinging, Lupin. That boy could wipe us all off the face of the Earth without hardly trying. Best to stay on his good side, if you ask me."

"But he still _looks_ only sixteen," Lupin argued distractedly. "He…" he turned to Dumbledore, a slightly pleading expression on his face. "What do you think, Professor?"

Dumbledore didn't answer right away, and instead gazed through the glass thoughtfully. "Severus has a good point," he said at last, tearing his eyes away from the orangeheaded teenager and turning towards the assembled group. "This has, if I may borrow a Muggle expression, thrown something of a monkey wrench into our operation." He raised a hand to silence Snape, who had opened his mouth to gloat. "However, Alastor has also expressed a valid option. If we were able to recruit Mr. Kurosaki into our forces, he could prove to be a valuable asset to our side. At the very least, Mr. Kurosaki will have to stay with us for the next few days, until he finishes his investigation."

"You can't be seriously considering letting him join the Order?" squawked McGonagall, mouth agape. "Albus, the boy's barely—"

"He's far older than he appears," growled Moody. "He hasn't been a kid in a long time."

Sirius raised an eyebrow curiously. "How in Merlin's name do you know that?"

Moody shrugged. "His eyes. You can tell a lot about a man by his eyes. The boy's got the kind of eyes I used to see on old Aurors, the ones who survived the war with Grindelwald. He's been through hell and lived to tell about it."

Sirius stared blankly. "…Oh."

"At any rate, I wasn't really suggesting to initiate the boy into the Order," said Dumbledore. "Allowing him to join the Order would, frankly, set a bad precedent. It would open the door for the other Harry and the other children to join as well – which, as I am sure you would all agree, is quite undesirable."

"What do you suggest then, headmaster?" Snape sneered. "We cannot let the brat go free, but you and your bleeding heart won't simply kill him, either."

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, staring intently through the glass. Finally he turned to face the rest of the group of wizards, his eyes twinkling brightly. "We allow the boy to stay here, until his 'investigation' is finished. Further decisions can be made at that time."

Snape scowled darkly and Sirius stared openly. "What! _Why_?"

"I do not believe there is any harm in allowing it," Dumbledore explained simply.

"Headmaster. The boy is an _Occlumens_," Snape hissed, lowly so none of the others could hear. "There is something off about the boy's _mind_, something _else_ forced me out. He isn't human—"

"Neither is Remus," Dumbledore admonished gently. "And you can hardly expect him to tell everything about himself to people he has never met before, can you?" He glanced at Snape and Moody. "If you two would please be so kind as to examine Mr. Kurosaki's sword for enchantments, it would be much appreciated."

They nodded, Snape somewhat reluctantly.

"Excellent!" the old headmaster said brightly. "Please get started on that right away, if you don't mind. I will go speak to Mr. Kurosaki regarding our decision."

He strode out of the room, his robes fluttering behind him. Snape and Moody exchanged dubious looks, sighed, and set to work.

-0-

Ichigo shut his phone with a snap as the wizened headmaster entered the dirty interrogation room. He raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Dumbledore smiled brightly. "We've decided to allow you to stay, in order to continue your investigation."

The Shinigami breathed a sigh of relief. "Arigatou."

"Since there seems to be no harm in allowing you to do your research on the dementors, you'll be permitted full access to the rather extensive Black family libraries as well as what information is already known to our members."

He blinked. "You're being quite generous."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "There's nothing wrong with being friendly every once in a while."

"I suppose," Ichigo agreed slowly. "So what do you want from me?"

"'Want?'" the headmaster repeated, looking slightly confused. "What makes you think we want something from you in return?"

Ichigo snorted. "'There is no such thing as a free lunch,' I believe is how the saying goes."

"Ah, I see…" said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "At the moment, we're not entirely sure. Nothing that would go against your morals, I assure you."

The Shinigami scowled. "I guess I'll just have to live with that." He ran a hand through his hair tiredly. "Really though, I appreciate your help. Our own libraries aren't giving me anything to work with so far," he admitted with a wry grin. "It's been worrying me. I've got people looking, but so far their search hasn't turned up anything. Hopefully the reports will show up soon."

The headmaster raised a bushy white eyebrow interestedly. "You have people looking?" he asked. "Are you a commander of some sort, Mr. Kurosaki?"

He rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "That's one way to put it. Not that my supposed 'subordinates' really listen to me. 'Course, I don't act much like a Captain anyway, so I guess it all works out." He smirked slightly. "Ours is a weird division."

Dumbledore had just opened his mouth to reply when an explosion of black and red light erupted from behind the mirrored window, blasting tiny fragments of glass into the dingy room. He hastily put up a shield charm around himself and the orange-haired Shinigami. "What – Mr. Kurosaki—"

But Ichigo was already on his feet and across the room, and in one fluid motion, jumped through the gap in the wall and into the room beyond.

Inside he found a bunch of rather shell-shocked wizards, gaping open mouthed at the large gash in the wall across from where the window had been. Ichigo crossed the room to reclaim his zanpakutou, then turned to glare murderously at the group, all traces of good humor gone from his face.

"Consider that a warning," he said coldly. "Zangetsu doesn't take lightly to people messing with him. Be glad he didn't take your _heads_ instead of the _wall_."

Snape, apparently recovering from his shock quickly, scoffed. "'He'? Your _sword_ is a _he_? What are you on about, Kurosaki? It's just a sword!"

If looks could kill, Snape would have been dead several times over. "Dumbass. Calling a zanpakutou a sword is like calling you a _primate_ – though in _your_ case, that might actually be a compliment," he added with a scowl. "Don't insult a Shinigami's zanpakutou. We don't like that."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "'Zan-ge-soo'? Is that… er, his name?" she asked tentatively.

Ichigo nodded. "Yes."

"You _named_ you sword?" Snape sneered.

Ichigo turned to face him, his eyes narrowed. "No. He named himself." He glanced back at Dumbledore. "Is there anything else, Dumbledore-san?"

"No, I don't think so," he said, repairing the broken mirror with a wave of his wand. "Sirius, Remus, would you be so kind as to escort Mr. Kurosaki upstairs? I'm sure Molly could use a hand in the kitchens; dinner should be ready by now."

They both nodded and motioned for Ichigo to follow them. "Er, this way," Sirius muttered awkwardly, leading him up the dark stairway and back into the molding foyer. "The kitchen's just down at the end of the hall…"

_CRASH!_

They jumped, startled, as the pink-haired woman Ichigo had taken hostage tripped over a bizarre umbrella stand that looked as though it had been hewn from the leg of some monstrous animal.

"Tonks!" The redheaded woman emerged from the kitchen at the end of the hall, a wand protruding from the pocket of her apron and carrying a ladle, which she waggled threateningly at the other. "How _many_ times—"

"I'm _sorry_!" Tonks wailed, lying spread-eagled on the floor. "It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second—"

The rest of her words were drowned out by a horrible, ear-splitting screech that echoed through the hall. The moth-eaten curtains flew apart to reveal a life-size picture of the ugliest old woman Ichigo had ever laid eyes on. Her hands clawed at her picture frame, her eyes rolled madly in their sockets, and flecks of spittle flew from her mouth as she screamed, and all down the hall more portraits started to yell and scream as well, creating a deafening, cacophonous racket that he was sure would wake up half the city.

"_Filth_! _Scum_! _By_-_products_ _of_ _dirt_ _and_ _vileness_! _Half_-_breeds_, _mudbloods_, _freaks_, _how_ _dare_ _you_ _befoul_ _the_ _house_ _of_ _my_ _fathers_! _Be gone_ _from_ _this_ _place_, _you_—!"

Sirius and Lupin darted forward, tugging fruitlessly at the curtains around the woman's portrait. "Shut up, you mad old hag!" Sirius shouted, yanking sharply on the curtain, but to no avail.

"_You_! _Blood_-_traitor_, _abomination_, _shame_ _of_ _my_ _flesh_! _How_ _dare_—!"

"SHUT – UP!"

Ichigo stepped behind the older man, both hands clamped firmly over his ears. "Excuse me," he said loudly in an effort to be heard over the din, "Would anyone mind too terribly if I killed this thing?" He received a round of shaking heads. "Stand back," he ordered, and both men stepped away from the shrieking portrait. He stared at the woman for a moment, weighing his options.

"_Traitors, half-breeds, mudbloods_! _Get out of this the house of my fathers, you're not worthy to—_!"

"(_Ye Lord, mask of blood and bone, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man. Cast out the sinless heart of darkness and stride onwards to the restless sea of smoke and flame. At the thirteenth hour, strike down the northern bridge of broken glass. Hadou_ _no_ _Gojuuyon_: _Haien_.)" His hand flashed forward, flinging a tiny ball of purple energy at the portrait. The woman's indignant screeches quickly turned to screams of pain as the violet flames incinerated her portrait. The last of the shrieks died away, leaving a mind-numbing silence in their wake.

The wizards simply stared at the space the portrait had occupied, openmouthed. Ichigo scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Ano… Sorry for that, it was the only way I could think of to shut her up…"

Sirius gaped for a moment, staring between him and the charred remnants of the woman's portrait, and then let out a great whoop of joy and pulled the rather startled Shinigami into a bear hug, laughing and shouting happily.

"_Thank_ _you_ _thank_ _you_ _thank_—"

Lupin tapped the overjoyed man on the shoulder, coughing slightly. "Ah, Padfoot? I think Mr. Kurosaki still needs to breathe…"

Sirius blinked, noticed that Ichigo's face was indeed turning an unhealthy shade of blue, and released his death grip. "Er… thanks."

"You're welcome," he coughed out, massaging his throat. "But next time, could you not strangle me?"

The man laughed. "Yeah, think I could manage that."

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_gomennasai: a very respectful way of saying 'sorry'_

_ossan: old man_

_kusari: chain_

_shimatta: expletive; used in the same way as 'damn' or 'dammit'_

_

* * *

_

Greetings to you all.

Here is chapter four. I can only pray it has lived up to everyone's expectations.

A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to JNottle, RosieZombified, Basia Orci, Misting Rain, willi890, Jiuriana-Chan, wind daffodil kyuuketsuki-san, marc, Gee, dragonXXforte, JessieKage, Obiki Doragon, KianaNic, Najrala, Escapedslave99, Taio Kaiona, Exclamated, Jiyle, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, xXSweetestXAngelXNightmareXx, EaglefootMoonflightVipertail, arwin-urban, and sai for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks.

Yes, I am well aware of the fact that this update is coming much earlier than predicted. This is due to a number of reasons (see below), but mostly because today is a special day, one that comes only once a century: 10/10/10. This is even more special than usual because 101010 is 42 in binary, which as I'm sure you are all aware is the answer to the 'Ulitmate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything.'

I am a 'bit' of a math nerd, so I feel the need to celebrate such a special day as 10-cubed. Or 1000. Or 42-day. Or whatever this sort of math-based holiday is called.

Mildly-interesting numerical tidbit aside, I do have other news: I will be returning to two/three day updates for a while. It feels odd to make such an announcement given that I just posted that updates would be bimonthly on Friday, but after some hard thinking, I've decided I would like to push this story closer to the 100K word mark before slowing it down.

This decision had nothing whatsoever to do with all the people who were sad about the wait. Nothing whatsoever...

__

_...Alright, it did. Sadly, I'm remarkably easy to guilt-trip into doing things. Sigh..._

Not that I regret people liking this enough to try and guilt-trip me, mind you.

___I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know._

Much love,  
Nesarna  
10/10/10


	5. Conspiracies

_**DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment.**_

_**IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine.**_

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Fifth

-0-

"Who was that woman?" Ichigo asked as he, Remus and Sirius made their way down the hall.

The older man grimaced. "My dear old mum. We'd been trying to get that awful portrait down for a month, but it wasn't coming. Never would've thought to burn the thing, though. Most portraits are immune to magical fire, you see. Not much short of Fiendfyre can burn them, but that's too risky for most wizards to use… What in Merlin's beard was that, anyway?"

Ichigo shrugged. "A mid-level destructive spell. It was the best thing I could think of that wouldn't bring the whole building down."

A loud thumping noise came from overhead and several people came crashing down the stairs, panting and out of breath. At the forefront of the pack was Harry, followed closely by a girl with bushy brown hair and several teens with vivid red hair.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. "We heard screaming…"

"Nothing much," said Sirius brightly, gesturing to the spot where the portrait had hung only minutes before. He patted the Shinigami on the back affectionately. "Just the old portrait of my mother. Ichigo here took care of it."

As one, their gazes swiveled to him, flickering back and forth between the scowling Shinigami and the charred remnants of the picture frame. "Who the bloody hell are you?" blurted one of the redheads, a tall, gangly, freckled youth.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," he said, quirking an eyebrow. He'd never seen so many people with that shade of hair; apparently, it wasn't as much a rarity here as it was in Japan. "Friends of yours, Potter?"

"Er, yeah," Harry muttered as the redheaded woman ushered the group through the hall and down a narrow stairway. They emerged into a long, rough-hewn room, old-fashioned chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and filled with a low-hanging cloud of smoke. Several rolls of parchment littered the lone wooden table, accompanied by several empty goblets and bottles of wine.

Two men stood at the table, examining an unfurled scroll. The redheaded woman, who had entered behind them, cleared her throat loudly. The elder of the two jumped, flushed, and smiled broadly, striding forward to greet Harry properly. "Harry, good to see you! Journey all right?"

"Yeah, fine. Thanks, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, grinning. "It's great to be out of Privet Drive."

Mr. Weasley turned to Ichigo, regarding him warily. "And you must be his cousin."

"Hai."

"Er – you – that is to say, Dumbledore…?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Ichigo said offhandedly, slinging his zanpakutou off his back and setting it neatly in a corner by the door. "Dumbledore-san put me in the clear. I'm only going to be here for a few days, anyway."

"Er… right then," the man muttered, his ears turning red. "Arthur Weasley," he said, offering his hand to the Shinigami.

Ichigo's scowl softened, and he took the hand. "Ichigo Kurosaki. Hajimemashite, Weasley-san."

Mr. Weasley smiled. "My wife Molly, our daughter Ginny, and our sons, Bill, Fred, George, and Ron," he said, pointing to each of them in turn. "There's also Ron's friend Hermione Granger, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Nymphadora Tonks."

"We've met," Ichigo muttered dryly, watching the woman in question knock a candle over onto one of the scrolls of parchment, which caught fire immediately.

Mrs. Weasley promptly doused it with a wave of her wand, and the parchment vanished. "Honestly. Do learn to watch where you're going, Tonks. And if you all want dinner," she called, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd, "I'll need a hand. No, you stay where you are, Harry, you've had a long journey," she added, seeing Harry rise from his seat next to Sirius.

"I'll help," Tonks said enthusiastically, knocking over several chairs as she ran to a large cupboard and started unloading dishes. She immediately selected the largest dish of the lot, easily large enough to hold an entire roast pig, complete with trimmings. She wobbled over toward the oven and promptly tripped on something invisible on the ground, sending her crashing to the dirt floor.

Tonks cringed, anticipating the dish to come slamming down on her head, but it never came. She blinked, and glanced upward. The plate hovered inches over her head, suspended in midair by a single, well-calloused hand.

Ichigo scowled. "You should be more careful, Tonks-san." She gaped at him. He smirked. "Seriously. You could hurt yourself one of these days."

"Er… right," she muttered, lifting herself painfully off the floor. Her whole body ached from the landing – the dirt floor was not exactly soft.

"Here."

She blinked, staring at the proffered hand. She took the rough hand reluctantly, and was immediately hauled to her feet. She brushed the dust of her robes. "…Thanks," she muttered.

"No trouble," he said. "Just be sure to grab the lighter one next time, ne?" He carried the tray over to where Mrs. Weasley was chopping potatoes with her wand.

Tonks stared, openmouthed. "Why…" she trailed off, grabbing an armful of (smaller) plates from the cupboard. "Why are you being so nice?" she asked finally, flushing slightly. "I mean, back at Harry's house… well, you almost… you attacked me."

Ichigo frowned slightly. "Tonks-san, you have to understand, I… I've been a fighter for nearly… for a very long time now. The reaction is automatic."

She raised an eyebrow. "You must have been through a lot to get reflexes like that. I mean, yeah, I've been through Auror training, but… I've never seen anyone move like that."

He grimaced. "More than most people in _several_ lifetimes."

"What sort of…?"

"Stuff that would give you nightmares for the rest of your existence." He shook his head. "You don't want to know."

"C'mon, you can tell me," she whined, adopting an innocent expression. "I've seen plenty of nasty things, I'm an Auror…"

He set the tray he was carrying down on the table, glaring slightly. "No."

"You can tell me… _please_…"

His reiatsu flared, and Tonks subconsciously backed away, the dishes falling to the floor with an almighty crash. "_No_."

She nodded mutely, unable to find her voice under the inexplicable _pressure_ that filled the room.

The pressure suddenly lifted, and she inhaled deeply, suddenly very aware that all the air had vanished from her lungs.

"What… what did you _do_?" she asked weakly, unsteadily getting to her feet. "That…"

He picked up the platter and loaded her discarded dishes onto it. "You'd best sit down, Tonks-san. You'll be unsteady on your feet for a while." He led her over to the far end of the table, where Harry, Sirius, and a smelly, ginger-haired man Ichigo vaguely recognized but hadn't yet been introduced to were sitting.

"Fred, George – _No_! JUST CARRY THEM!"

The five of them spun around and immediately ducked out of the way. A large cauldron full of soup, an iron pitcher and a heavy breadboard, complete with butter and knife, came hurtling through the air. The cauldron skidded across the table, stopping just before the end, the pitcher missed the table entirely and spilled its contents all over the floor, and the knife slipped off the board and flew across the room, landing with a _thunk_ and quivering ominously in the table.

Mrs. Weasley rounded on the twins, her expression murderous. "_There was no need – completely irresponsible_!_ You could have seriously injured someone_!_ Just because you're allowed to use magic now_—"

"We're just trying to save a bit of time—!" shouted one of the twins, while his duplicate wrenched the knife out of the table with a grunt of effort. "Sorry, mates, didn't mean to—"

But Mrs. Weasley was not about to let the pair off easily. "Just because you're of age, you don't have to whip out your wands for everything! None of your brothers caused this sort of trouble! Bill didn't Apparate every few feet, Charlie didn't charm everything he met, Percy—"

She cut herself off abruptly, shooting a worried look at her husband, whose hand was clenched tightly around a dinner fork as though ready to murder someone with it.

"Let's eat," suggested Bill, herding his younger siblings to the table and sitting down.

Ichigo sat down tentatively next to Lupin at the end of the table, the seat next to his cousin having already been claimed by the red-headed girl.

The table fell silent, save for the shuffling of chairs and clink of dishes as everyone settled into their meal. Ichigo stared at the fork he had been given slightly helplessly; he'd seen the thing before in one of his Western Culture classes back in high school, but didn't really remember how to use it well. He was pretty sure that lesson had been interrupted by a Hollow attack in a park halfway across town.

Lupin noticed his dilemma and chuckled slightly. "Having trouble?" he asked, not unkindly.

Ichigo scowled at the offending utensil. Shiro was laughing at him. "I think I missed that particular day in Culture class."

Lupin tapped the fork with his wand, and immediately two chopsticks appeared in his hand. "Here."

"Arigatou," Ichigo muttered, taking the sticks with a nod of thanks and pointedly ignoring the amused looks Mr. Weasley and his eldest son were giving him.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat loudly, glancing down the table at Sirius. "I've been meaning to tell you, there's something stuck in the writing-desk up in the drawing room. Keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it's probably a boggart, but I thought it might be nice to have Alastor take a look at it before we let it out. The curtains are full of doxies, too; I was thinking of tackling them tomorrow…"

Mr. Weasley turned to his son. "Any news on the goblin front, Bill?" he asked lightly, spearing a potato with his knife.

Bill shrugged. "Not really. I've heard some rumors going around, but they're not giving anything away yet. I still can't work out whether they believe he's back or not, or if they even plan on taking sides at all. They might just want to keep out of it, let the wizards deal with it."

"I don't think they'd go over to You-Know-Who," Mr. Weasley murmured thoughtfully. "They've suffered losses, too. Remember that goblin family he slaughtered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?"

"I think it depends on what they're offered," Lupin said. "If they're offered freedoms we've been denying them for centuries, they're going to be tempted."

"It might not even take that much," muttered Ichigo darkly.

Mr. Weasley raised an eyebrow curiously. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, prodding irritably at a chuck of meat on his plate. "I knew a case once where two mortal enemies joined forces simply because one of them was bored. The result was… unpleasant."

"What happened?"

Ichigo grimaced. "Put it this way: a _lot_ of people died very _painful_, very _bloody_ deaths. Barragan's specialty was rapid aging. Bastard could rot a limb right off or shatter bone before you'd even got a shot in. You had to cut it off or leave it attached – both of which hurt like hell, I might add – and either way there was the sepsis to deal with, and the gangrene and… The lucky ones lost their whole bodies in the first attack."

The three wizards shuddered.

"Anyway, I don't think you're going to have to worry about that particular scenario," he continued, taking a sip of water. "That was an extreme case, and fortunately for everybody powers like Barragan's don't exactly grow on trees. I don't know much about these goblins of yours, but unless they're as insane as Hollows—" he pointedly ignored Shiro's indignant huff, "They won't do anything _quite_ so stupid. What are they like?"

He directed this last question toward Bill, who blinked several times before describing in some detail the goblin banking system, their loyalty to their vaults, and their propensity for stone, metal, and jewel-magics. They were very, very clever, he explained, and though they were normally fairly pleasant to be around (by goblin standards, anyway), they could be vicious and downright cruel if pushed far enough.

Ichigo thought for a moment. "There shouldn't be a problem. This Voldemort bastard's a psycho – he's impulsive, the sort that breaks his deals once the other side's outlived their usefulness. The goblins sound like they'll be more likely to plan for the long-term; even if he does offer them something valuable in exchange for service, they'll likely recognize that Voldemort's not likely to hold up his own end of the bargain. They won't join him. Oh, a few might, but the overall population will probably be against it."

The wizards stared.

"What?"

Lupin shook his head in wonderment. "That's about the quickest I've ever heard the goblin situation summed up, especially coming from someone who claims not to be that informed of goblin politics. Dumbledore reached the same conclusion."

Ichigo blinked. "Ano… sorry?"

Mr. Weasley smiled. "Don't be. You've nothing to be ashamed of."

"Where'd you learn to think like that?" Bill asked interestedly.

Ichigo frowned into his potato. "I'm a sort of… unofficial diplomat… for the Seireitei. Interracial relations. Not really what I want to be doing, but _somebody's_ got to do it."

Lupin raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Why?"

"Because the Central Forty-Six Chambers have been incredibly stupid for the past several thousand years," he explained irritably. "They set themselves up for it. When they finally _were_ betrayed, they had no one to help them deal with it and kill the bastards. The Hollow Elders could've, they were pissed off with Barragan anyway. The Bount and Quincy are all damn good fighters; could've helped us win some of the battles. Kami knows we needed it. And don't get me _started_ on the Vaizard and modsoul situations. If someone doesn't do something about their isolationist policies, they'll be in deep shit. Again. And I'm not so sure I'll be willing to help fix their screw-ups next time," he grumbled. "Stupid as all hell. It's a wonder no one killed them all off before Aizen did. But you didn't hear that from me," he added, shooting them suspicious looks. "No reason to give Central even _more_ reason to want me dead."

The wizards stared blankly. "What?"

Ichigo scowled and returned to his plate. "Never mind. I'm just ranting."

They spent the rest of the meal deep in discussion of magical law and politics. Bill was well-versed in goblin-lore and was most familiar with the economics of the magical world, and often spoke of inflation and taxation rates; Mr. Weasley, as it turned out, worked for the Ministry, and knew its inner workings and politics; Lupin was currently unemployed (he wouldn't say why), but he was more familiar than either of the redheaded males with the status of magical Britain at the ground level, from the perspective of those who were most affected by Gringott's increased interest rates and the latest Ministry laws regarding wand control. Ichigo simply tried to make sense of it all.

Magical Britain was hardly the fairy-tale land it seemed to be on the outside. Prejudice was commonplace, and discrimination against what the Ministry perceived as 'inferior beings' ("Codswallop," said Bill. "Load of rubbish.") was rampant. Lupin described the merfolk and their sea-magic powerful enough to change the weather and the ocean's currents – but because they could speak in nothing but shrieks and screeches above the water, most of magical Britain looked down on them – and the centaurs, who were some of the best diviners in the world – but because of their isolationist tendencies, their visions (which Mr. Weasley claimed had an accuracy rate of nearly one-hundred percent) were discounted and almost universally ignored.

When he described the werewolves, both Weasley's expressions turned grim. The general population hated and feared them – admittedly, not without good reason, as werewolves went absolutely insane on the nights of the full moon, and attacked and killed most anyone they could get their claws on – but the fear was misplaced; most of the time, werewolves were kind and ordinary folk, and certainly not a danger to society. But the terror that accompanied the full moon had existed for centuries and was unlikely to dissipate any time soon, and though there was now a potion available to help with the madness, it was difficult to brew and very expensive. And since it was more-or-less impossible for a werewolf to obtain a job legally, few of them could afford it.

"That's no good," Ichigo said, taking a bite of the crumble Mrs. Weasley had made for dessert. "Even a small portion of the population can be dangerous. Especially if they're being denied basic rights; food, shelter, a steady income, that sort of thing. Why won't the Ministry provide the potion?"

Lupin shrugged. "Officially it's due to a low budget. The Wolfsbane Potion is expensive to make; there just isn't enough money to make it for all of Britain's werewolves."

Mr. Weasley snorted. "Unofficially it's because of a lot of anti-werewolf sentiment among the higher-up officials and general public. A law was passed just last year that makes it illegal for anyone to hire a werewolf. Caused no small amount of trouble, that law."

"That'll be an issue," the Shinigami muttered, setting aside his plate. "That sort of thinking has to go as soon as possible, if they want to stay alive. Purposely making life difficult for a section of the population that could easily kill you isn't a wise move."

"Especially considering that more than half the werewolf population dislikes wizards anyway, for hating _them_," Bill said, shaking his head sadly. "It's a nasty cycle."

The conversation around the table died away slowly, and Mrs. Weasley stretched and started gathering dishes off the table. "Nearly time for bed, I think."

"Not so fast, Molly," said Sirius abruptly, turning to Harry beside him. "I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The atmosphere changed so quickly it left Ichigo feeling vaguely lightheaded. Before, the assembled wizards had radiated a sense of ease and camaraderie; now their reiatsu spoke of tension and fear. He straightened slightly in his seat and glanced steadily up and down the table. The group shivered at the mention of the Dark Lord's name.

"I did," said Harry, eyeing the gaunt man warily. "I asked Ron and Hermione about it, but they said we're not allowed in the Order—"

"And they're quite right," Mrs. Weasley said sharply, sitting up ramrod straight in her chair and glaring daggers at Sirius. "You're too young."

"Since when does someone have to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" Sirius demanded. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month, he's got the right to know what's been going on—"

"Hang on," protested one of the twins (Ichigo couldn't tell which one). "How come Harry gets his questions answered?"

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for ages—" continued his double.

"'_You're too young, you're not in the order_—'"

"Harry's not even of age!"

"It's not my fault your parents have made the decision not to tell you what's been going on," Sirius said. "Harry, on the other hand—"

"It's not your job to decide what's right for Harry!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore told you?"

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, though his tone was strained.

"The part about not telling Harry more than he '_needs_ _to_ _know_,'" she said sharply.

"I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly," Sirius replied, outraged. "But seeing as he was the one to see Voldemort come back, he has more right than most—"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix! He's only _fifteen_!"

Ichigo quirked an eyebrow dubiously. He'd been only fifteen when he'd begun fighting Hollows, which were probably _much_ more dangerous than this supposed 'Dark Lord.' Sixteen when the War broke out – and the Espada were _definitely_ more powerful than the Lord Whatsisname could ever even _hope_ to be.

After all, the Espada – especially numbers one through six – were capable of leveling cities to their foundations with little more than a thought. He seriously doubted Voldemort was able to do the same.

"He's dealt with more than most of the Order!" Sirius retorted. "He's not a child!"

"He's not an adult, either!" Mrs. Weasley insisted. "He isn't _James_, Sirius!"

The man's expression turned frosty. "I'm well aware of that, thanks, Molly."

"I'm not so sure you are. Sometimes, the way you talk about him – it's like you've got your best friend back. He's not his father, Sirius. He's still in school and the adults responsible for him should not forget that!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" Sirius demanded angrily.

"Meaning you've been known to act rashly, which is why Dumbledore keeps telling you to stay home and—"

"We'll leave my orders from Dumbledore out of this, if you don't mind," Sirius said through gritted teeth.

Mrs. Weasley rounded on her husband. "Arthur! Back me up!"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. This argument was getting nowhere fast. Mr. Weasley sighed. "I think Dumbledore recognizes that the situation has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be informed about what's going on, at least to a certain extent, now that he's staying at headquarters—"

"Yes, but there's a difference between that and letting him ask whatever he likes!"

"Personally," began Lupin, and Mrs. Weasley turned to him, hoping that she had at last found an ally in her one-sided battle, "I think it best if Harry gets the facts – not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture. Better that than a more… garbled version from someone else."

Mrs. Weasley bristled. "Well… I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had a reason for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's interests at heart—"

"He's not your _son_," Sirius reminded her.

"He's as good as!" she shouted, jumping to her feet. "Who else has he got?"

"He's got _me_!" the gaunt wizard snapped, standing as well.

Ichigo frowned. "Considering _I'm_ the only one here who's an actual _blood_-_relative_ of Potter," he growled, eliciting a small smirk from Bill across the table.

Mrs. Weasley frowned and rounded on him. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" she demanded. "Do you honestly think _you're_ better suited to looking after Harry—?"

"I wouldn't wish my dysfunctional family on anyone, unless Potter thinks he can handle the flying-tackle-with-dropkick combo from Oyaji," Ichigo said, forcing his tone to remain light. "And considering how far he is outside Seireitei's jurisdiction, I can't exactly put him under the division's protection either. Though I seriously doubt he needs it," he added, nodding in Harry's direction. "He's capable of looking after himself."

Harry smiled weakly. At least _someone_ had faith in his abilities.

"Molly, you're not the only one here who cares about Harry," Lupin said sharply. Mrs. Weasley's started trembling with suppressed rage. "I think Harry is old enough to decide for himself," he continued calmly. "He should have a say in this."

"I want to know what's going on," Harry said immediately.

Mrs. Weasley took a deep, shuddering breath and pointed a shaking finger at the stairway. "Very well – Ron, Hermione – Fred, George, Ginny! All of you—"

"Wait a moment!" the twins protested loudly. "We're of age!"

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" demanded Ron.

"NO!" bellowed Mrs. Weasley. "None of you are members of the Order of the Phoenix—"

"You can't stop Fred and George," Mr. Weasley said tiredly, cleaning his glasses on a corner of his shirt. "They _are_ of age."

"They're still in school—"

"But they're legal adults now," he continued. "You can't _make_ them leave, Molly."

"And Harry will tell us—" Ron gestured to himself and Hermione, "—everything you say, anyway. Won't you, Harry?" he asked, glancing at his friend.

Harry nodded. "'Course I will."

Mrs. Weasley's face turned tomato red. "Fine! Ginny – bed!" She ignored her daughter's screams of protest and rounded on Ichigo. "You too! You've even less right to be here than _they_ do!" she shouted, gesturing angrily to the remaining teenagers seated around the table. "Go upstairs with Ginny, she'll show you where—"

He didn't move. "Do you seriously think you can _make_ me?" he asked, not bothering to keep his tone polite this time. Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog, but her retort died on her lips at the positively _malevolent_ aura that swept across the room. Ichigo gave her one of his Hollow's patented insane grins. "Go on, give it a shot. I'd _love_ to see you try."

She was scarlet in the face. Without another word she seized her daughter by the elbow and frog-marched the poor girl up the kitchen stairs and into the hallway. They could hear her screeching at her mother all the way from the upper floor. A loud slam echoed from upstairs, and the shouting stopped.

As one, Fred and George spun in their seats to stare at the Shinigami captain, openmouthed.

"That was _amazing_!"

"_Never_ seen Mum back off before—"

"—Usually just goes on and on like there's no tomorrow—"

"—There's no stopping her once she gets going, see—"

"Tell us how you did it!" they finished eagerly.

Ichigo blinked. "Nani?"

Lupin chuckled. "I think you've become something of a family hero, now," he whispered in his ear. "Better watch out, those two will be hounding you for years after that little stunt."

Ichigo scowled. Shiro, predictably, laughed.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat loudly, silencing the twins; though the amused glint in his eye made it very clear he was just as impressed as they.

Sirius turned to Harry. "Alright. What do you want to know?"

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry said at once. "Where's Voldemort? What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the muggle news, but there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet. No funny deaths or anything else."

"That's because there haven't been any 'funny deaths,'" Sirius replied. "Not as far as we know, anyway. And we know quite a lot."

"More than he thinks we do, at any rate," added Lupin.

Harry's brow furrowed. "How come he's stopped killing people?"

"He doesn't want to draw attention to himself," said Sirius. "It'd be dangerous."

"How so?"

"It's a tactical move," Ichigo muttered, arms folded and glaring darkly at the rough wooden table. "If people don't know about something, they can't prepare for it. Which leaves this Voldemort bastard free to do as he pleases, until he's ready to make the first move. This way he can do just about anything, provided he stays under the radar – or frames someone else for his mistakes," he added bitterly. "Smart move."

"Exactly," Sirius said. "His comeback didn't happen quite the way he wanted it to, you know. He messed it up—"

"Or rather, you messed it up for him," Lupin added. "You weren't supposed to survive. Nobody was supposed to know he was back, apart from his loyal Death Eaters, of course."

"Except you _did_ survive, and the last person he wanted to know he was back was the very first person you told: Dumbledore. Thanks to you, he was able to recall the entire Order of the Phoenix only an hour after Voldemort came back."

"So what's the Order been up to?" Harry asked, glancing around the table.

"Trying to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," Sirius said.

"But what _are_ his plans?"

"Well, first off he wants to build up his forces," Lupin began. "Back in the old days he had an entire army at his command: witches and wizards he'd bullied or enchanted into service, a great variety of Dark creatures, and of course his faithful Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to keep him from getting more followers?"

Tonks nodded enthusiastically. "That's most of it. Mainly we just try and convince people he's back, but it's proving tricky."

Harry blinked. "Why's that?"

"Because of the Ministry's attitude toward the whole thing," Tonks said irritably. "You remember Fudge after the Third Task, Harry! Well, he hasn't changed his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe that You-Know-Who is back."

"But _why_?" repeated Harry despairingly. "Why's he being so… so… _stupid_? If Dumbledore says—"

"And therein lies the problem," said Lupin quietly. "Dumbledore."

"Fudge is scared of him, y'see," Tonks explained. "He reckons Dumbledore's plotting a coup, just stirring up trouble to discredit him. Thinks he wants to be Minister of Magic."

Harry gaped. "But Dumbledore's _never_ wanted—"

Ichigo scowled. "It doesn't matter if it's true or not. You told me Dumbledore-san is one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Politicians hate and fear anyone stronger than them on principle. _Especially_ if that person does something they don't like," he added bitterly.

The teens blinked. "And what's Dumbledore doing that the Ministry doesn't like?"

"He's telling people that Voldemort's _back_," Lupin said tiredly. "Unfortunately, accepting that fact would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to deal with in fourteen years."

"And that terrifies Fudge," Sirius added. "He'd much rather believe that it's all just a rumor, cooked up by one of his political opponents to destabilize his government. Much more comfortable that way."

Ichigo groaned and looked ready to bang his head on the nearest hard surface. "The man's got Ostrich Syndrome," he muttered darkly. "Shit."

Sirius nodded, looking amused. "Exactly."

"You see the problem," Lupin continued, smiling slightly. "As long as the Ministry's denying that he's back, it's almost impossible to convince the general public that Voldemort has returned. And since the Ministry's leaning heavily on the _Prophet_ not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's 'rumor-mongering,' hardly anyone knows something's happening at all."

"Which makes them very good targets for the Imperius Curse," Mr. Weasley added, scowling. Ichigo didn't know what the 'Imperius Curse' was, but judging from the dark looks on everyone at the table, it wasn't anything good.

"But you _are_ telling people, aren't you?" Harry pressed, looking anxious. "You're telling people he's back, right?"

Sirius smiled grimly. "Well, considering that everyone thinks I'm an insane mass-murderer and I've got a ten-thousand galleon bounty out on my head, I can hardly go waltzing down the street handing out pamphlets, now can I?" he said dryly. "And Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started spouting off Dumbledore's 'propaganda.' And it's very important to have spies inside the Ministry, because Voldemort _definitely_ will."

"We've managed to convince a few people, though," Mr. Weasley said. "Tonks, here for one." The woman in question waved brightly. "She's too young to have fought in the last war, and having Aurors on our side is a real asset. Kingsley's been useful, too – he's in charge of the hunt for Sirius."

"Supposedly I'm somewhere in Tibet right now," Sirius laughed.

"But if no one's getting the news out—"

"Who said no one was talking?" Lupin asked mildly. "Why do you think Dumbledore's in so much trouble with the Ministry these days? Didn't you see the paper last week? Dumbledore's been voted out of the International Confederation of Wizards not because he's getting old and senile, but because he gave a speech announcing Voldemort's return in front of a bunch of Ministry officials. They've taken him off the Wizengamot, too, and there's talk of taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class as well."

"If he keeps it up, he might well end up in Azkaban, which is the last place we want him," Mr. Weasley said gravely. "At least while Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to, You-Know-Who will move cautiously. If he wasn't – well, You-Know-Who'd have a field day."

"But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters, it's bound to come out that he's back, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily," Ichigo growled. "Manipulative bastards like him don't just knock on the door. He's probably very, very good at working in secrecy. He'll pick off the fringe groups first, then threaten and blackmail the rest into compliance."

Lupin nodded. "Precisely. And anyway, followers are only one thing he's after. He's got other plans, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed. He's focusing on them at the moment."

"What's he after, apart from followers?"

Sirius and Lupin exchanged brief glances, before Lupin said, cautiously, "Something he can only get by stealth."

Harry stared blankly.

"Something he didn't have last time, like… like a weapon."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "A weapon? Something worse than the _Avada Kedavra_…?"

"That's enough."

The people at the table spun around in their seats. Mrs. Weasley stood in the corner, her arms crossed against her chest. None of them, not even Ichigo (who had gotten much better at sensing people over the years), had seen or heard her enter. She looked absolutely livid.

"I want all of you in bed, _now_," she said, shooting Sirius and Lupin furious looks. "Tell them anything more and you might as well just induct them into the Order of the Phoenix right now—"

"Why not?" said Harry immediately. "I want to join, I want to fight!"

But Lupin shook his head. "No. The Order is comprised only of overage wizards – wizards who have _left_ _school_," he added sharply, seeing the twins open their mouths to object. "There are dangers involved you can't possibly imagine. Molly's right, Sirius, we've said enough."

Sirius didn't argue as Mrs. Weasley beckoned to the teenagers and one by one, they stood up and left. Harry's shoulders sagged in disappointment before he too followed suit. Ichigo glanced between Sirius and Lupin before retrieving Zangetsu and following his cousin up the stairs. He'd be staying at Grimmauld Place for a few more days; there'd be plenty of time to talk to the pair of them then. He still needed information on dementors, after all. And this matter with the Dark Lord Whatsisname was starting to worry him as well.

How the hell had he managed to cheat death?

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_None for this chapter._

* * *

_Greetings to you all._

_Here is chapter five. I can only pray it has lived up to everyone's expectations._

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Basia Orci, Artemis1922, marc, wind daffodil kyuuketsuki-san, Lazy Historian, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, willi890, JessieKage, KianaNic, Kisa Teh Puppy, Femisis, Eadha Ohn, Jiyle, Goldenfightergirl, storyreaderlovespie, Escapedslave99, Adam Durlock, Kyrial Halcyorn, H-PockySticks, FanFictionFan345, and Exclamated for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks._

_I know this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but this was the best place to cut it off. Apologies. Chapter six will probably be posted Friday._

_I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love,  
Nesarna  
10/12/10_


	6. Research

**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes._**

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine._**

**_

* * *

_**

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Sixth

-0-

Mrs. Weasley shut the kitchen door sharply behind Ichigo as he stepped into the hall. She ushered them all upstairs, her expression grim.

"I want you all to go straight to bed, no talking," she said sharply as they passed the space formerly occupied by Mrs. Black. "We've got a busy day tomorrow, and I want you all well rested and alert when we tackle that doxy hive tomorrow. I expect Ginny's asleep," she added to the brown-haired girl. "Try not to wake her."

One of the twins rolled his eyes. "Yeah right. If Ginny's asleep and _not_ waiting impatiently for Hermione to come up and tell her everything, then I'm a flobberworm." His double sniggered.

Mrs. Weasley shooed Harry and the youngest Weasley male into a room on the second floor landing. Looking slightly reluctant, she motioned for Ichigo to follow. The room he entered was very gloomy, like the rest of the manor, and completely undecorated save for an empty stretch of canvas on the far wall. Two beds had been crammed into the room and those, combined with a large writing desk and wardrobe, left very little floor space to stand on.

"We haven't had time to prepare another room," Mrs. Weasley said, slightly apologetically.

"That's alright, Weasley-san," he said politely. "I'll be fine on the floor. Arigatou."

She nodded crisply and left, leaving the three teenagers alone in the dark room. Ichigo flicked on a nearby gas-lamp, filling the dingy room with flickering light. The Weasley boy looked nervously between Harry and the Shinigami. "Er – Harry?"

Harry sighed. "Ron, this is my cousin Ichigo. Ichigo – Ron."

Ichigo nodded. "Yo."

"Er – yeah." Ron's eyes widened as he caught sight of the Shinigami's oversized zanpakutou. "Is that a sword?" he asked bluntly, pointing. "Can I see—?"

Ichigo hesitated before setting his zanpakutou on the nearby desk and removing the bandages that served as its make-shift sheath. The redhead's eyes widened even more. "Wicked," he breathed, examining the razor-sharp edge. Ichigo felt the mental voice of Zangetsu grumble irritably, and he laid a calming hand on the blade's hilt. "Can you really use it?" Ron asked excitedly.

Ichigo smirked. "Aa. Rather well, according to some."

"Can I try—?"

"Iie," the Shinigami said immediately, shaking his head.

Harry laughed at the expression on Ron's face from where he sat at the edge of his bed near the window.

"Aw, why not?" he asked as Ichigo re-wrapped the blade and stood it carefully in the corner.

Ichigo paused to consider, taking off his haori to use as a make-shift blanket. If Rukia saw him do that, she'd smack him over the head and say something about belittling an honored symbol of Shinigami prowess. Ichigo didn't much care, since he had several more like it hanging in a closet in his office. "A zanpakutou is… they aren't like normal swords," he said after a moment. "They can't be wielded by just anyone. It's almost unheard of for a zanpakutou to allow themselves to be used by someone other than who they're partnered with."

Harry's head tilted sideways in confusion. "'They allow themselves?'" he repeated. "You talk about it like it's alive…"

"They are," Ichigo said simply. "Not in the same way you are, but they're conscious. Sentient. Whatever."

Ron blinked. "Blimey, mate. That's weird."

Ichigo shrugged. "'Weird' just depends on your definition of 'normal.'"

Ron frowned, but nodded anyway. "Yeah, I guess…" He locked the door and turned off the gas lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The sound of creaking bedsprings filled the room as he laid down on his bed and buried himself beneath the sheets. "So, anyway…" he turned to face Harry and Ichigo, who he could make out dimly in the moonlight filtering in through the dirt window. "_What d'you reckon_?"

Neither had to ask what he was referring to.

"Well, they didn't really tell us anything we couldn't have worked out on our own," Harry mused. "All they really said was that the Order's trying to stop people joining Voldemort."

Ron inhaled sharply. Harry scoffed. "When _are_ you going to start using his name? Sirius and Lupin do."

Ichigo snorted at the irritated expression on the Weasley's face. Fearing a name was rather stupid, in his opinion. Names were just that – names. They couldn't hurt you just by being spoken. Whoever _carried_ the name, maybe, but not the name itself. There were much better things to fear.

"Yeah, you're right. We already knew pretty much everything they told us, just by using the Extendable Ears. The only new bit was—"

_CRACK_!

"OUCH!"

"Keep your voice down, Ron, or Mum'll be back up again—"

"_You_ _two_ _just_ _Apparated_ _on_ _my_ _knees_!"

"Yeah, well—"

"—It's harder in the dark—"

"_Urusai_," Ichigo said sharply from the corner. "Do you _want_ to be heard? Now shut up and I'll give us some light."

An intense, blood-red light filled the room, emanating from a tiny orb floating centimeters above the Shinigami's hand. The assembled wizards shivered involuntarily; the glow was eerie, and spoke of impending violence and terror and bloodshed. They were suddenly reminded very strongly of the awful fear they had felt when the orange-haired teenager had faced down Mrs. Weasley. Ichigo's eyes shone an odd golden color in the dark light.

"Cero," he said simply, answering their unasked question. "Don't worry, I've got control of it. You were saying?"

Ron shook his head distractedly. "Er – yeah. Well – the only new bit was the weapon Sirius mentioned."

One of the twins grinned. "Let slip, more like. Didn't hear anything about that on the old Extendables, did we George?"

The other twin – now revealed to be George – shook his head. "Indeed we did not, dearest brother."

"What do you think it could be?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Could be anything, really," said Fred thoughtfully.

"But there can't be anything worse than the Avada Kedavra, can there?" Ron reasoned. "What's worse than _death_?"

"There are a _lot_ of things worse than death," Ichigo muttered darkly, shuddering. "Trust me."

The four teenage wizards glanced at him disbelievingly, but didn't comment. "Maybe it's some particularly painful way of killing people," Ron suggested fearfully. "Or maybe something that can kill of loads of people at once."

Harry shook his head. "He's got the Cruciatus Curse for causing pain; he doesn't need anything more efficient than that."

The room fell quiet, each of them trying to imagine the sort of destruction the weapon could cause. "You're all assuming this thing is actually a weapon," Ichigo murmured thoughtfully after a moment. "What if it isn't? What if it's something else?"

Fred raised an eyebrow incredulously. "What else could it be?"

The Shinigami shrugged. "Something that bends reality, something that makes the impossible possible," he said, thinking of the Hougyoku. "A means to an end. Something he can use to achieve a greater goal."

Harry snorted. "I don't reckon Voldemort's got much on his mind other than chaos and mass destruction. I don't think he's that interested in anything _other_ than a weapon."

Ichigo shrugged. "…You'd know more about Lord Whatsisface than I do," he conceded grudgingly.

"Who do you reckon's got it now, then?" George wondered aloud.

"Hope we do," his twin muttered.

"If it is, I'd bet ten galleons Dumbledore's got it," Ron said excitedly.

"You don't _have_ ten galleons, little brother," Fred quipped.

Ron glared. "Shut it, neither do you!"

"Yes, well – I'd still reckon it's at Hogwarts," Harry interrupted hastily, before the sibling's argument could escalate even further. "That's where he hid the Philosopher's Stone, remember?"

"A weapon's got to be much bigger than the Stone, though," Ron reasoned.

Ichigo shook his head. "Not necessarily. The most dangerous item in the history of the world is – was – about the size of a marble."

"And anyway, size is no guarantee of power," added George. "Just look at Ginny."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

Fred scoffed. "You never been on the receiving end of one of her Bat-Bogey Hexes, have you?"

The group laughed silently. Something twitched at the edge of Ichigo's senses, and he motioned for the group to be quiet. Barely a second later the sound of creaking floorboards came from the hall.

"_Mum_!" Fred hissed, and the twins vanished with another loud _CRACK_. The footsteps paused outside the doorway. The two teens froze in their beds, and Ichigo hastily covered the exposed ball of red light with his free hand.

They remained like this for several tense seconds, before the floorboards creaked again and Mrs. Weasley continued on up the stairs to check on Fred and George.

Harry and Ron both breathed a sigh of relief. "That was close," Ron muttered, sinking back into his pillows. "She doesn't trust us at all, you know."

Harry nodded in agreement as Ichigo stood and wrenched open the window. A chill breeze filled the room and the two wizards shivered. "What're you doing?" Harry whispered.

"Releasing this," he answered, just as quietly. The red sphere surged and pulsed in his hand, and crimson lightning crackled across its surface. "It's too dangerous to do it in here, it'd level the whole block."

Ron raised an eyebrow curiously as Ichigo launched the ball into the sky. It flew through the air with a low whining noise and vanished into the starry heavens. "You sure it's okay to let it out there then?"

Ichigo shrugged, shutting the window with a sharp snap and settling down in the corner near his zanpakutou. "Hn. Just so long as it doesn't take out an airplane or low-orbit satellite."

A pause.

"What's a satellite?"

-0-

Sunlight filtered in through the dirty window, illuminating tiny dust motes that floated gently on the still air. It was almost serene, Ichigo thought. It was nearly the crack of dawn, and the rest of the manor was still fast asleep. Doing his best not to wake the two heavily-snoring teenagers, he made his way down to the kitchen. He was frying eggs by the time Mrs. Weasley appeared, still wearing her bathrobe. She'd looked rather surprised to see someone else up so early. He'd shrugged and told her he always got up at the crack of dawn.

"I work long hours, Weasley-san," he said simply.

She raised an eyebrow incredulously, but didn't comment. Apparently she was still wary after his little display of power the previous night.

Ichigo nodded to Mr. Weasley as he entered, yawning and carrying a copy of the newspaper. "Good morning," the older man said brightly, sitting down at the table opposite. "Had a good sleep?"

He shrugged. "Well enough."

Mr. Weasley hm-ed and leafed through his paper. Ichigo stared. The picture on the front showed a rather short, corpulent man making a passionate speech before an audience of politicians and reporters. While the image of an angry bureaucrat was nothing new, what _was_ new was that the image was _moving_. In retrospect, it shouldn't have been so surprising; the portrait of Mrs. Black he'd destroyed the previous day had moved as well, but he hadn't really been focusing on that at the time. He'd been more concerned with the Gillian-sized headache her screeching had induced.

"Weasley-san?" he began hesitantly, as the politician gesticulated angrily, "Am I hallucinating, or is the fat man moving?"

Mr. Weasley blinked and flipped back to the front page. "Yes, yes he is. That's Cornelius Fudge, our Minister of Magic."

"Ostrich-man?"

Mr. Weasley snorted. "Yes, that's him."

The tiny version of Fudge slammed his fist down on the podium, apparently making some point or another. "But why is he _moving_?"

Even Mrs. Weasley chucked slightly at his evident confusion. "All pictures move in the wizarding world, Ichigo," the elder man said patiently, as though explaining that one and one made two to a particularly dense three-year-old. "Didn't you know that?"

Ichigo frowned. "There isn't much use for art within the Gotei. We're a military organization, not an art colony," he said defensively. "And I don't think the editors of _Seireitei Communication_ would want to spend extra just so Rukia's crappy drawings will _move_." He shuddered. "Those things are awful enough as is. Expect they'd all hide in the corners out of shame."

Mr. Weasley smiled. "That bad, eh?"

"You have no idea. Remind me to send you next month's issue," he muttered darkly, setting his used plate in the sink.

Mr. Weasley laughed. "If you say so. What're you up to today?"

"Research. I've still got a job to do, after all."

The man nodded. "Alright. The library's up on the third floor. Be careful, it hasn't been cleaned yet."

"I can handle a few dust bunnies. I'll be fine."

As it turned out, the library contained far more than a few dust bunnies (though there were many of those). Several of the books shrieked at him as he walked past their shelves, and one particularly annoying volume tried to bite him when he pulled it off its shelf.

_That_ book was quickly turned into a smoldering pile of ash. This seemed to intimidate the rest of the Black Family Collection, for there were no more protests as he rifled through the stacks.

After that, it hadn't been too difficult to locate the relevant texts. The Black Library, despite its lack of upkeep, was still incredibly organized. Ichigo bypassed a number of volumes on rather nasty-looking curses and grabbed several books on Dark creatures.

A white shadow flickered into the seat beside him as he opened the first book on the pile.

"_Compiled Bestiaries o' Medieval Europe_? _Monsters o' Australia an' Oceania_?_ Marvin the Madman's Guide ta Dark Creatures_?" Shiro read aloud, staring at his counterpart incredulously. "(What the 'ell, King?)"

Ichigo shrugged. "(Dumbledore-san said we could use the Black's library,)" he said, flipping another page of the _Compendium of the World's Darkest Creatures_. "(We're using it.)"

Shirosaki scowled irritably. "(We should be out _there_, lookin.' _Way_ better'n sittin' in a dusty library all day.)"

Ichigo removed a few books from the top of the pile and passed them over to the impatient Hollow. "(Hey, I'm not arguing with that. But how would we know where to start?)" he asked rhetorically. "(So would you mind helping me with these?)"

His white double took the books warily, as though afraid they would bite him. "(Che…)"

"(The faster we get through these, the faster we can get out of here,)" Ichigo reminded him, grabbing a copy of the _Encyclopaedia of Monsters_. A few seconds later and the soft sound of flipping pages reached his ears and he looked up to see the Hollow thumbing through the index of the _Catalogue of New World Creatures and Beasts_. He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

Shirosaki glared. "(Nanda-yo?)"

Ichigo shook his head and returned to the _Encyclopaedia_. "(Nothing. I just never expected to see you reading a _book_, of all things.)"

"(I _do_ know 'ow,)" his duplicate growled, looking sour. "(Why's that so surprisin'?)"

"(Because you're _not_ the reading type.)"

The Hollow grunted. The pair of them fell into a rather companionable silence, broken occasionally by the sound of rustling paper. Shiro finally became bored after having worked his way through _The History of Modern European Magizoology_ and disappeared into the section with books on violent curses, hexes, and jinxes.

Ichigo shook his head despairingly, but let him go. He was pushing it enough as it was; Shirosaki Anzu was not known for his patience with delicate or monotonous work.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Several books later, Ichigo was himself nearly ready to give up on the idea that the Black library would offer him anything. The few books that mentioned dementors did little beyond describe their effects and appearance and how to counter them, which, while useful, was not the sort of information he was looking for. Where did they come from? How did they live? And what, _what_, did their unnatural reiatsu mean?

'_Dementors are among the foulest creatures to walk the Earth. They are chiefly characterized by their black cloaks, unique gliding movement, and the chill that pervades the air around them. Dementors, prior to the Sentience Act of 1811 that defined a "being" as "any creature that has sufficient intelligence to understand the laws of the magical community and to bear part of the responsibility in shaping those laws (Sentience Act, Article I section i, 1811)", Dementors possessed the highest general-danger warning among humanoid creatures. They are to be avoided at all costs. The only known defense against them is the Patronus Charm. Their exact origins remain unknown…'_

He shut _The Index of European and Asiatic Monsters_ with a snap. This was getting him nowhere, and he was getting there fast. He stood, and was about to call for Shiro so they could go find Lupin and start interrogating him when a small voice spoke up behind him.

"What are you doing?"

He spun around, cursing himself for his lack of focus. He really had been out of it the past few days; first the Weasley woman, and now Potter's bushy-haired friend.

"Ano… Granger, right?" he asked, putting _The Index of European and Asiatic Monsters_ on top of the 'useless' pile.

She nodded. "Yes. What are you doing in the library?"

He raised an eyebrow. The brown-haired girl seemed rather accusative. Had she claimed the library as her own or something? "Ano… Research."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Ooh, what are you researching?" she asked interestedly, leaning over to examine the stack of books. "_Beastes Moste Evile_? Are you looking for information on magical creatures?"

Ichigo nodded tiredly. "Aa. I don't know how much Potter told you… I'm looking for stuff on dementors, but these books aren't really helping me any," he added bitterly, throwing an angry glare at the offending texts.

Hermione glanced through the titles critically. "Of course they aren't. These are all general guides; they won't tell you much other than the basics of any dark creature, never mind something as rare as a dementor. Here," she said, dragging him back towards the stack of shelves. She pulled out several old and very battered tomes. Ichigo could barely read any of the faded titles. "Try these."

Slightly befuddled by the girl's bossy attitude, Ichigo flipped the first book, and old handwritten volume he could vaugely make out as being titled _Bestiarium Maleficum_, open to the 'D' section and began to read.

'…_Of alle the cretures inhabiting this Earthe, arguablie the worst and moste terrorble is the Dementore. These emissaries of darkness and despaire are unmistake-able, for they bring colde and hopeless-ness wherever they appeare. They are cheeflie characterized by their appearance: that of an overlarge cloaked skeleton. What lies beneath the hoode is unknowne to alle, for none who have witnessed the Dementore without its hoode have lived to tell the tale._

'_Their moste fearsome weapon, in addition to the terror they inspire in their victimes, is their Kisse, by which a Dementore will forciblie remove their victime's purpose for living and sense of Selfe, as well as alle the things and emotions associated with the Selfe. Contrarie to long-standing traditions and beleefs, Dementores do not actuallie remove the Soul from their victime, for the Soul cannot be removed from its moorings by any mortale power, save the Avada Kedavra curse itself. However, Dementores do possess the power to destroy a Soul's power source; how or why they have such a fearsome ability is a mysterie. The destruction of a Sorceror's Core is utterly devastating to magikfolke, for we are tied closer to our Selfe-cores than our non-magical kindred, who may have their Core destroyed and continue to live, though they will never be able to acheeve their fullest potentiale. The destruction of the Core is what leads to the symptoms so commonelie associated with the loss of the true Soul; namelie listless-ness, loss of memorie, and lack of emotion._

'_The onlie known methode of repelling a Dementore's chille is the Patronus Charme. The Patronus Charme, however, is particularie difficult in the presence of Dementores, not only because of the deadening effect of the creatures they seek to repel, but because the Patronus itself is a manifestation of the verie thing a Dementore seeks to destroy. The Patronus is a manifestation of a Sorceror's sense of Selfe, of what makes him who he is, and all the feelings and emotions associated with absolute selfe-dominance. A Sorceror's Patronus is tied directlie to his Core, and is a representation of that powere. As such, onlie those who are in fulle controle of themselves and their Magik are able to Summon a true Patronus. For this reasone, very few Sorcerors are able to bring one into the materiale worlde._

'_Dementores are known to favore the darkest and dampest areas of Europe…'_

Ichigo shut the book thoughtfully, and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way at the anxious-looking Hermione. "Arigatou, Granger. This is much better than anything I found."

It seemed to have worked, for she flushed and ducked her head slightly. "You're quite welcome. How come you're reading about dementors, anyway?"

He shrugged. "…I encountered one in that alley with Potter. They're… unnerving. There's something… _wrong_, I suppose is the best word, about them. I want to know what."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean, 'wrong?'"

Ichigo paused, wondering how best to explain the creature's inexplicable aura without getting into all the nitty-gritty details about reiatsu and reiryoku. Which in turn demanded an explanation of Hollows and Shinigami, which naturally lead to the existence of the Soul Society… "It's kind of hard to explain," he said at last. "They just… _felt_ wrong. I don't know how else to put it."

Hermione had just opened her mouth to (no doubt) ask another question when one of the twins poked his head into the room. "Hermione? You in here?"

"Over here," she called, hurrying around a stack of books.

"_There_ you are," Fred said, looking relieved. "Been looking all over. Mum says she needs your help in the drawing room; there's loads more doxies that she thought."

"All right, I'll be down in a moment." The redhead nodded and left. Hermione turned to Ichigo. "Is there anything else?"

He shook his head. "No, thanks. Actually, I think I've about had it in the library for the day; I'll come with you in a minute." He set the stack of books on the table as the brunette left.

"(She gone?)" Shirosaki asked, emerging from the shadows between shelves.

"(Aa.)"

"(Che.)" He examined one of the books Hermione had selected. "(This really what we're lookin' for?)"

"(Aa.)"

"(Don' look like much,)" Shiro commented, flipping slowly through the table of contents.

Ichigo shrugged. "(Books never do. You ready to get going?)"

The Hollow scowled. "(Che.)" He vanished into a spray of white particles as the Shinigami exited the library. _I 'ate 'avin' ta 'ide._

_I'm well aware of that,_ Ichigo replied. _You can come out once we're back in the Seireitei, ne?_

Shirosaki grumbled irritably and sank deeper into their collective mind, leaving Ichigo to his own thoughts.

-0-

"All right everyone," Mrs. Weasley announced, hunched over a copy of _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests_. "Cover your faces and take a spray. Be careful, doxies bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antivenin, but I'd rather no one had to use it." She straightened and signaled the seven of them to come closer to the infested curtain. "When I say the word, start spraying at once. I expect they'll all come flying at us, but it says on the sprays that one good squirt will paralyze them. Just throw them in there," she added, indicating a bucket in the middle of the room.

Ichigo glanced dubiously between the bucket and the buzzing drapery. He could practically _feel_ the activity inside the curtains; either doxies were much smaller than he assumed or the Weasley matron had several more pails stashed around the room, because there was no way that all the doxies would fit into that tiny little bucket.

Mrs. Weasley stepped carefully out of their line of fire and raised her own bottle of dark liquid. "All right – bottles up! And – _squirt_!"

Almost immediately, a cloud of insects came flying out of the curtain in a black wave. They really were ugly, Ichigo mused as one he had just sprayed fell to the floor with a loud _clunk_. Large, black, and hairy, they looked more like evil, demonic fairies than anything.

"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, "Stop that at once! Spray that thing and throw it away!"

The twin she had addressed smiled cheerfully and squirted the struggling creature he'd been holding full in the face, but the second his mother had turned away, he pocketed the doxy with a hearty wink.

"We want to experiment with doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes," the other whispered conspiratorially to Harry, though Ichigo, standing a few feet away, could hear every word. He squirted a doxy that had been flying at his nose, and with a slight flare of reiatsu simultaneously crushed another that had been attacking his hair. Both fell to the floor immediately.

Harry edged closer to George, and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "What _are_ Skiving Snackboxes?"

George grinned. "Set of sweets to make you ill. Not seriously ill, mind, just ill enough to get you out of class when you feel like it. We've been developing them all summer. They're double-ended, color-coded and all. Just swallow the orange half of a Puking Pastille and you throw up. Second you've been rushed out of class, you swallow the purple half—"

"'—Which restores you to full physical fitness, enabling you to enjoy the leisure activity of your choice during an hour of what otherwise would have been devoted to unprofitable boredom,'" Fred finished, who had inched over and out of his mother's range of vision to sweep up more of the paralyzed doxies. "That's what we're putting in the adverts, anyway. Mind you, they still need a bit of work, seeing as our testers can't seem to stop vomiting long enough to swallow the purple end."

"'_Testers_?'" Harry repeated incredulously.

"Us," said George. "Fred and I take it in turns. I did the Fainting Fancies, we both tried the Nosebleed Nougat—"

"Mum though we'd been dueling," Fred muttered.

"Joke shop still a go, then?" Harry whispered.

The twins nodded enthusiastically. "It's all thanks to you, mate. We haven't had a chance to get premises yet, so we're using a mail-order service at the moment. Mum hasn't got a clue, though. She won't read the _Prophet_ anymore, not after that rubbish it wrote about you and Dumbledore this summer…"

"You'd best be careful," Ichigo muttered to them, causing the three of them to jump in alarm. "'Cause your dad still gets the paper. He was reading it this morning."

The twins looked torn between being annoyed with him for eavesdropping and terrified at the prospect of their mother finding out about their little capitalist venture. "You don't reckon he'd tell Mum—"

Ichigo shook his head. "If he hasn't yet, he won't. And neither will I," he added, and the twins sighed in relief. "Your idea's brilliant. You manage to find something that'll work on me and I'll give you half my annual salary for the next decade."

Fred raised an eyebrow critically. "How much money are we talking about here?"

"About three million kan a year, not accounting for repair bills and housing costs."

Their eyes bulged in their sockets. "Deal," they said immediately, before going off to collect more doxy samples with renewed gusto.

Harry glanced at his cousin, surprised. "You make that much? What the hell do you do?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Babysit a bunch of very destructive Arrancar," he said dryly. "I lose most of it paying for property damages. And it's really not as much as it sounds – it's a little more than thirty thousand pounds, I think."

Harry nodded. Uncle Vernon made about that much through his job at Grunnings. "So how come you're so interested in the Skiving Snackboxes?"

"Do you have any idea how often I've had to run out of class or work to do my job?" He snorted. "Kami. If I'd had those snackbox things freshman year of high school, it would've made my life a _lot_ easier. There's only so many times you can tell your sensei that you have an 'emergency' before she stops letting you leave." He grinned. "Plus, any excuse to get out of those goddamn captain's meetings is fine in my book."

Harry blinked. "…Oh."

By the time noon rolled around, the green curtains were soaking wet from their excessive spraying, but were no longer buzzing ominously. Doxies were crammed into Mrs. Weasley's bucket, and someone had unearthed a nest of doxy eggs, which had been put into an old, cracked china bowl, and which the twins were eyeing appraisingly.

"I think we'll tackle those after lunch," Mrs. Weasley said, pointing to a large set of cabinets filled with an assortment of rather nasty-looking weapons and artifacts.

A loud clanging noise echoed from downstairs, causing the six wizards to jump slightly and Ichigo to reflexively reach for his zanpakutou (which he had stashed in an unoccupied corner of the drawing room). "We keep telling them _not_ to use the doorbell," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "You lot stay put, I'll go get us some sandwiches."

The second she had closed the door carefully behind her, Fred and George both rushed over to the window, peering down into the street below.

"Blimey, is that—"

"I reckon it is."

"Who?" asked Ron, craning his neck to look over their heads.

"_Mundungus_," said Fred excitedly. "What's that he's got with him?"

"Looks like a load of cauldrons," muttered Harry, peering over their shoulders.

"Could be," agreed George as the ginger-haired man stepped through the front door, stack of cauldrons in tow. "Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be guarding you?"

And as if on cue, Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed from the front hall. "WE ARE _NOT_ RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!"

"It is _lovely_ to hear Mum yell at someone else," Fred said happily, opening the door slightly to allow his mother's infuriated voice to fill the room. "Makes for such a nice change."

"COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE – LIKE WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING IN STOLEN CAULDRONS ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE—"

George shook his head dramatically. "Oh dear. Poor Mundungus, he's letting her pick up steam – you've got to head her off early, or she'll keep going on and on for hours. And she's been dying to have a go at 'Dung since he went off while he was supposed to be watching you, Harry…"

The door creaked open a bit wider, and something small and hairless with oversized, bat-like ears and wearing a filthy loin-cloth edged into the room. Ichigo grimaced. The thing somehow managed to be uglier than most of the Hollows he had faced. _Combined_.

"…Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, of course _she's_ no better, nasty old blood-traitor with all her brats, strutting around my mistress' house like she owns the place… oh, if my mistress could see, what she would say… Mudbloods and murderers and traitors and werewolves and thieves, poor old Kreacher, but what can he do…"

Fred snapped the door shut behind it, glaring. "Hello, Kreacher."

The thing – now identified as 'Kreacher' – spun around and gave a very pronounced, very unconvincing jump of surprise. "Kreacher did not see Young Master," it said, its voice low and gravelly. Then it continued under its breath, "…nasty little blood-traitor, it is…"

George coughed loudly. "We didn't catch that last bit."

"Kreacher said nothing… and there's its twin, unnatural little beasts they are…" it added in a hoarse undertone. "And there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh if my mistress knew, oh how she'd cry… and there's a new boy, and another one too… Kreacher doesn't know who they are, what're they doing here, Kreacher doesn't know…"

"This is Harry, Kreacher," Hermione said gently. "Harry Potter. And his cousin Ichigo."

Kreacher's bloodshot eyes widened and he began to mutter even faster and angrier than ever. "The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's mistress saw him in her company, oh what would she say—"

"Don't call her a Mudblood!" Ron shouted.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione pleaded. "He's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what—"

"Don't kid yourself Hermione, he knows _exactly_ what he's saying," Fred said angrily, glaring at the offending creature.

The thing glanced between Harry and Ichigo, still grumbling furiously. "Is it true, is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's the boy who stopped the Dark Lord. Kreacher wonders how he did it—"

"Don't we all, Kreacher?" George muttered.

"—And Kreacher doesn't know who the other one is, he looks like a Weasley, what nasty blood-traitors they all are. Who is he, why does he feel strange on Kreacher's skin, Kreacher doesn't like it, nasty unnatural freak he is…"

Ichigo's eyebrow twitched. He crouched down in front of Kreacher and plastered on Shiro's best evil, insane grin, staring the irritating little elf square in the face. "Why yes, I _am_ an unnatural freak," he said, his voice so low it sounded more like an animalistic growl than human speech. "Isn't it nice to know you're right?" He let his reiatsu flare dangerously, making the six teenagers flinch. Kreacher was far worse off, however; his eyes bulged in their sockets and he clutched desperately at his throat, unable to breathe. Ichigo's manic grin widened and his eyes glittered a poisonous gold, tendrils of black creeping into the corners. "Now get the hell out of here before I show you just how much of a _freak_ I am."

Kreacher let out a shrill screech and bolted from the room and past Sirius standing in the doorway, shrieking about unnatural yellow eyes and orange-haired monsters.

Sirius raised an eyebrow questioningly as Kreacher sped past, wailing hysterically. "What in Merlin's beard…"

Ichigo regained his grip on his reiatsu and straightened. "Just giving that thing a taste of what _real_ freaks are like."

"I'm not sure I want to know," Sirius muttered, shaking his head. He set a platter of sandwiches on a spindly-legged table. "Molly had me bring these up, seeing as she's busy chewing out Mundungus for those cauldrons of his. Help yourselves."

As one, the hungry Weasley males converged on the tiny table, nearly knocking it over. Hermione and Ginny both exchanged amused smirks, while Harry wandered over to talk to Sirius, who was examining a large tapestry on the far wall.

"Does anyone want to tell me what the hell that thing was?" Ichigo asked, purposely looking anywhere but at the image of the Weasley twins fighting over a ham and cheese sandwich.

"That's Kreacher," said Ginny. "He's a house-elf."

"A _what_?"

"A house-elf," Hermione huffed irritably. "They're slaves, it's really unfair how they're treated – and there was no reason to _scare_ the poor thing, he's under enough stress as it is—"

"Oh, lay off Hermione," Ginny admonished. "At least now Kreacher won't be bothering us for a while. Why do you keep defending him, anyway? He's done nothing but insult you every time he's in the same room as you."

Hermione flushed. "Yes, well – he's not in his right mind, he's been alone for so many years, listening to Mrs. Black's old portrait all the time – it's no wonder he's delusional."

"Hn. Whatever you say," Ichigo muttered dubiously. Out loud, he continued, "What the hell's a 'Mudblood,' anyway?"

Ginny scowled, grabbing a sandwich from the recently-abandoned tray. "It's an awful term, really. Dirty blood, see. Dirty blood. A lot of old wizarding families think they're blood's better than others', see. Hermione's parents are both Muggles – non-magic folks, you know – so they don't think she's as good as they are. Which is utter rubbish, of course, because Hermione here can cast circles around just about everybody in the school."

"Ah." It sounded vaguely like the supposed 'favoritism' he saw in the Seireitei. What with five of the thirteen squads being headed by members of the nobility (ignoring some of the lesser nobles like Kira and Oumaeda scattered through the upper seats), it was no surprise a lot of young recruits seemed to think the Gotei was biased in favor of those with high social standing. Truth be told, Ichigo didn't give a damn _where_ his subordinates came from so long as they could do their job (which seemed to involve a lot of not pissing the Sexta off). Statistically speaking, those from the nobility actually had a _lower_ chance of being accepted into the gobantai, since they were usually far more prejudiced against living humans and Hollows alike than those from Rukongai, which often clashed with the Fifth's own mission statement.

Not to mention it might get them killed. There had been a very nasty incident some thirteen years ago when some idiot of a Kannogi had nearly lost his head (and several other vital organs) after a particularly vile comment. It had taken every scrap of political savvy and patience Ichigo possessed and several not-entirely-veiled threats from the Clan Heir to keep the moron from pressing charges. Ichigo had made very sure to attend the annual Kasumiouji-Kannogi Football Tournament that year.

Though he still had to wonder what that idiot had said to get both Grimmjow _and_ _Ulquiorra_ out for his blood. Even Nel – who was notorious for liking anybody and everybody – didn't like him.

The three of them settled down near the others on the moth-eaten sofa. Sirius and Harry had rejoined the group, laughing heartily at a joke one of the twins had made (though in Harry's case, the laughter had a sort of forcedness to it), and Hermione had pulled Ginny into a discussion on elf rights. Ichigo smiled faintly; it was just like back with his nakama in high school.

He frowned slightly at that thought. He hadn't seen most of his classmates since graduation, apart from Rukia and Renji. Last he knew Ishida and Inoue had both graduated with honors from the Tokyo University School of Medicine and gotten engaged; they'd named him and Rukia godparents of their first daughter, a little fireball named Sora (how Orihime had convinced her husband to agree to that was something he preferred not to think too hard about). Chad had done a brief stint touring with his band – which had hit it off big in the United States – before returning to Mexico, getting a bachelor's in social work from UNAM, and setting up a community center for troubled teens in Mexico City. To everyone's surprise, Tatsuki had never gone professional with her martial arts career, instead choosing to remain in Karakura and join the police force, and then last year she'd taken another job in Tokyo, though he hadn't heard what it was yet. No one was entirely certain what had become of Keigo and Mizuiro – Keigo'd gone off on some sort of soul-searching adventure across the world, and Mizuiro had gone with him to ensure the bumbling, loveable idiot didn't get himself killed.

Oh, they all stayed in touch, of course – lots of e-mail correspondence back and forth (Ichigo had no idea _how_ Soul Society stayed connected to the internet, but was very grateful they did), and phone calls that lasted well into the night – but they hadn't gotten _together_ in quite a long time. Maybe it was time for a reunion?

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a loud beeping noise emanating from somewhere inside his shihakushou. Ichigo flushed slightly and muttered a hasty apology. The Weasleys and Sirius all stared as he reached into his robes and extracted a black cell phone that someone (not him, judging by his irritated scowl) had deemed fit to decorate with a dangling strawberry charm. He frowned slightly at the number before flipping it open and pressing it to his ear.

"Moshimoshi."

A faint jabbering noise filtered in through the earpiece, and Ichigo's face broke out into the first real, genuine smile the wizards had seen on it so far.

"Arigatou, Ririn." He shut the phone with a snap and stood up, still beaming from ear to ear.

"What was that?" Ron asked, eyeing the tiny black contraption warily.

Ichigo heaved his zanpakutou onto his back and grinned. "Ulquiorra's coming."

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_nanda-yo: an aggressive way of asking 'what'; sort of like 'what do you want?' or 'what's your problem?'_

_nakama: friends, comrades, etc. (implies a very close-knit group)_

_moshimoshi: hello (on a telephone)_

_UNAM (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México): Large univeristy based in Ciudad de México; among the largest and most recognized universities in Latin America_

_

* * *

_

Greetings to you all.

Here is chapter six. I can only pray it has lived up to everyone's expectations.

A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Escapedslave99, Em Phantom, Basia Orci, Clockwork Raven, Jiyle, wind daffodil kyuuketsuki-san, dragonXXforte (x2 because I didn't thank you for last chapter), home dawg fo shizzle, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, JNottle, KianaNic, Femisis, marc, Gee, xXSweetestXAngelXNightmareXx, Obiki Doragon, willi890, One of the Colorless, unknown to worlds, BrokenMuse, FanFictionFan345, Jeikobu Kyoudai-teiru, Canis Cantus, and JessieKage for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks.

I do apologize for the mass of illegible/incomprehensible text in the middle of this chapter. It was an attempt to reproduce Old English, complete with all the spelling errors one would expect in a handwritten book; I'm afraid I don't know how successful my attempt was. I tried, anyway.

_Chapter seven will probably be posted Sunday; if not, it will be posted on Tuesday of next week. I cannot guarantee when this story will be updated, as that hinges whatever the study schedule ends up being for my math exam on the ninteenth. My apologies, but multivariable calculus midterms are a bit difficult to pass without a considerable amount of effort._

I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know.

Much love,  
Nesarna  
10/15/10


	7. Familiar Faces

_**DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done solely for my own entertainment purposes.**_

_**IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine.**_

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Seventh

-0-

"Who?" George asked as the seven of them – the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and Sirius – followed the Shinigami down the stairs and into the hall.

"Ulquiorra Schiffer," Ichigo repeated impatiently, hurrying past the space formerly occupied by the portrait of Mrs. Black. "A… coworker of mine. I asked him to find some files for me last week. He's finally got that damned report finished. About time, too – I was starting to worry he'd been crushed under a stack of books or something."

"But where are you _going_?"

Ichigo stopped in front of the door with its many bolts and locks and scowled. "Outside. He'll know where I am, since Kurotsuchi's got about a dozen different trackers on me, and he probably _won't_ hesitate to rip down _all_ your shields and wards to get inside if he has to."

Sirius stared. "He can do that?"

Ichigo snorted. "_I_ could do that if I wanted. It'd be _easy_." He shoved back the last of the bolt locks and prepared to throw the door open, but Sirius put an arm across the doorframe.

"Now hold on a minute – you can't just let anyone in here – what part of 'secret headquarters—'"

Ichigo glared and batted the man's arm out of the way. "And what part of 'will tear down all your wards' did you not understand?" he growled. "I wasn't joking. It'd be _very_ easy to rip open the seam hiding this place."

Sirius hesitated, looking uncertain. "Even so—"

"Ulquiorra won't tell anyone. He's freaking _nihilism_ for crying out loud," the Shinigami insisted. "If you won't trust me on that, then come with me. Do whatever you want, I don't care. Just let me through."

And without further ado he wrenched open the door and stepped onto the street.

Sirius blinked at his sudden departure. He turned to the six teenagers. "You lot stay in here, I'll go see what he's up to." He opened the door and slipped out, changing smoothly into the large black dog that was his namesake as he did so.

The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione all exchanged looks, then as one charged back up the stairs to watch out the drawing room window. All of them were very interested to see the people Ichigo worked with. He hadn't told them anything outright, exactly, but they'd managed to learn a little from listening to him talk. They certainly sounded like… _interesting_ individuals.

Not to mention nearly _anything_ was better than continuing to clean out the drawing room.

-0-

The second Ichigo stepped out the door, he was bowled off his feet by a tiny green blur moving at nearly supersonic speeds.

"(_ITSYGO_!)"

He fell down on his back with a grunt. "(Yo, Nel.)"

"(ITSYGO! NEL WAS MISSIN' YA 'CAUSE ITSYGO WAS 'WAY AN' NEL WAS WEALLY WEALLY LONELY 'CAUSE ITSYGO WASN'T DERE AN'—)" she babbled, hugging him tightly around the midriff.

"(Nel… air… can't… breathe…!)"

"(—AN' NEL'S BWUDDERS TRIED TA MAKE NEL HAPPY BUT NEL WAS SAD 'CAUSE ITSYGO WASN'T DERE AN' DAT MADE NEL'S BWUDDERS SAD TOO AN' SO DEN EV'WYBODY WAS SAD 'CAUSE WE WAS ALL MISSIN' YA 'CAUSE YA WASN'T DERE!)"

"(Nelliel-sama. Please release Kurosaki-taichou before he passes out from lack of oxygen,)" said a calm voice.

Nel reluctantly released her death-grip on the Shinigami, who immediately started gulping in great lungfuls of air. She sat determinedly on his chest, glaring at him with large, watery brown eyes.

"(Itsygo gotta pwomise not ta leave Nel a'gin,)" she said seriously. "(Nel don' eva wanna be 'lone a'gin. Itsygo gotta pwomise.)"

His eyes softened. "(I promise not to leave you again without telling you where I am or how long I'll be away. Okay?)"

Nel thought for a minute, before nodding and allowing Ichigo to stand before resuming her customary place on his shoulder.

A soft scoff was heard from his right. "('And so the lion was brought down by the lamb.' You're looking more and more like Zaraki every day, Kurosaki.)"

Ichigo whirled around to see the juubantai taichou and his vice-captain leaning against the rickety front stair of Number Thirteen. "(Urusai, Toushirou,)" he growled irritably.

Hitsugaya's eyebrow twitched. "(That's Hitsygaya-taichou to you, Kurosaki.)"

Ichigo smirked. "(Whatever you say, Toushirou. What the hell are you two doing here, anyway?)" he asked Matsumoto, completely ignoring the small captain's shouts of protest.

She bit her lip nervously. "(Well, ah…)"

"(They are escorts,)" Ulquiorra said tonelessly, though the slight furrowing of his brow spoke volumes coming from the emotionless Arrancar. "(Ukitake-soutaichou requested they accompany me on my journey.)"

Ichigo scowled. "(Does Central _still_ not trust you to not run off and start another rebellion? After everything you did for us in the War—)"

"(Calm down, Kurosaki,)" Hitsugaya said sharply. "(The matter of a former Espada's trustworthiness is neither here nor there. We're here to keep _Avalon_ from trying to kill him.)"

"(They would not succeed in their attempts,)" Ulquiorra said at once.

"(No, they wouldn't,)" Hitsugaya acknowledged with a nod of his head. "(But they're still unlikely to be willing to accept an Arrancar of Ulquiorra's caliber wandering freely around the country. If he is escorted by a Captain, they will see the situation as under control and will not interfere.)" He turned to Ichigo, frowning slightly. "(You've really put us in a tight spot with this one. Avalon _still_ hasn't replied to any of our missives.)"

Ichigo nodded solemnly. "(I noticed that as well. Any idea what's going on?)"

Hitsugaya shook his head. "(No, and that has Ukitake-soutaichou starting to worry. The silence is disconcerting. He fears retaliation for interfering in Avalon's jurisdiction is being planned. He would like to formally request that you do _not_ do anything too forward or confrontational.)"

"(So basically, keep my head down and don't blow anything up,)" the gobantai taichou summarized, scowling darkly. "(Damn.)" At Hitsugaya's questioning look, he elaborated, "(Shiro's getting antsy. Long-term missions with little-to-no combat involved don't sit well with him, and we're both anxious as it is. Depending on how long this goes on… the result won't be pretty.)"

Hitsugaya raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment further. He wasn't even going to _try_ to fathom the impossible relationship that existed between the Hollow and Shinigami halves of Kurosaki's soul. "(I see. I will speak to Ukitake-soutaichou. Perhaps he will be able to organize some sort of Senkaimon access that will allow you to come to Soul Society immediately if necessary.)"

"(It's there or Hueco Mundo,)" Ichigo muttered. "(The Elders might be willing to allow us Garganta rights, but since they're trying to control the movement between Hueco Mundo and the other dimensions at the moment… Well, it won't hurt to put a request in.)"

The juubantai taichou nodded. "(You do that. In the meantime, _please_ try to impress on Shirosaki-taichou the importance of peace between the different jurisdictions. We do _not_ need an incident.)" He gestured to Matsumoto, who jumped off the railing and joined her captain on the ground. "(I will speak to Ukitake-soutaichou on your behalf.)"

"(Arigatou, Toushirou.)"

"(_It's Hitsugaya_-_taichou_!)"

Ichigo ignored him and turned to face the expressionless Espada. "(You find anything? Library turn up anything useful?)"

Ulquiorra nodded and extracted several thick files from somewhere inside his coat. "(The Daireishokairo provided me with very little relevant information. I was forced to search elsewhere.)"

Ichigo raised an eyebrow at the folder's size. "(Where did you look?)"

"(La Biblioteca Central de la Ciudad de Máscaras, as well as through the archives of Las Noches.)"

The gobantai taichou winced. "(You got approval for that, I hope?)"

"(Naturally.)"

"(Good. What did you find?)"

"(The records of the beings known as 'sombras' are found primarily in folkloric literature. They are regarded as a myth by the majority of Hollows – phantoms invoked by parents to get their children to bed at night. I believe the human equivalent is the… namahage?)" Ichigo blinked in surprise and nodded. "(The Elders Council was quite perturbed when they learned you had witnessed one attack a mortal. They wish to speak to you regarding your findings as soon as you have compiled your report.)"

Ichigo grimaced. He _hated_ giving reports to the Hollow Elders. "(Understandable. Continue.)"

"(The search of Aizen's library revealed that he had encountered a sombra during one of his travels. He was able to obtain one for experimentation. Szayel-san's research notes are included in the file.)"

_That'll be fun to read,_ Ichigo thought disgustedly. Szayel, the former Octava Espada, had been about as sadistic and only slightly more depraved than Kurotsuchi Mayuri when he'd been alive. "(Is there anything else?)"

"(Iie, Kurosaki-taichou.)"

He nodded. "(Alright. Thank you, Ulquiorra. Has anyone heard from Koga and Ran Tao yet?)"

The Cuarta Espada shook his head. "(Iie. Noba-san is still searching for them. Word will be sent as soon as they are found.)"

"(And Urahara?)"

"(Urahara-san is currently working with Kurotsuchi-taichou to analyze the remains of the sombra recovered from the site of the attack.)"

"(Give them a copy of Szayel's notes, see if that helps them any.)"

"(Hai, Kurosaki-taichou.)"

"(Is there anything else to report?)"

"(Iie, Kurosaki-taichou.)"

Ichigo nodded. "(Arigatou.)" He glanced at Hitsugaya. "(When are you scheduled to return to the Seireitei?)"

"(As soon as possible.)"

"(B-but Nel don' wanna go!)" Nel protested loudly from her spot on Ichigo's shoulder, fixing the young captain with her best puppy-dog expression. "(Nel wanna stay wid Itsygo! Nel wanna meet Itsygo's cuthin an' fwends an'—)"

Matsumoto rounded on her Captain. "(But – _taichou_! We should stay! Think of all the things we could do in the city – think of the _shopping_!)"

"(All the more reason to leave sooner, rather than later,)" Hitsugaya said tersely. He drew Hyourinmaru from its sheath and thrust it into the air, twisting the zanpakutou like a key. A set of tall, paper screen doors appeared out of thin air. He turned to Ichigo. "(_That_,)" he said, indicating the child-like Arrancar on his shoulder, "(Is your responsibility from now on. Do with her as you like, I don't care. I just don't ever want to see that thing anywhere _near_ my office for the next century, understand?)"

The Senkaimon slid open, and Hitsugaya disappeared into the glowing portal. With a crisp nod to his captain, Ulquiorra followed at once.

"(Matsumoto!)"

The bubbly juubantai fukutaichou waved a merry good-bye to the Shinigami and Arrancar. The paper screen slammed shut behind her, and faded into the sky.

-0-

The second the door had shut behind Sirius, Harry, Hermione, and the four Weasley siblings raced back up the stairs. Fred wrenched aside the sopping curtains (taking great care not to disturb the bucket or bowl of precious doxy eggs), and all six of them clustered around the window, staring out into the park below. Five people stood out on the dying grass, Ichigo easily recognizable from this distance by his vivid hair. The other four were completely unfamiliar; the males' eyes were immediately attracted to the rather… _well_-_endowed_ blonde woman, and it was only after Ginny had unceremoniously stomped on Ron's foot that they noticed the others. One was a young boy with hair even paler than Malfoy's, and another a tiny green-clad toddler wearing some sort of odd white hat. It was the fourth, however, that caught their attention. Thin and lithe, with piercing green eyes they could see clearly, even at this distance, he wore white in stark contrast to the other adults, and on his head was a strange half-helmet decorated with a curving, deadly horn.

"Blimey," Ron muttered, eyeing at the odd group outside warily. "Tags along with some weird folk, he does."

"Who is he supposed to be meeting, though?" Hermione wondered. "I thought there was just the one… what was his name again?"

George shrugged. "No idea. Something unpronounceable, I reckon. Damn," he muttered, squinting through the dirty glass. "Can't see a bloody thing."

"I've got a pair of omnioculars in my trunk," Harry suggested. "They're next to the telescope, I think."

George grinned and vanished with a loud _CRACK_! He reappeared about ten seconds later, bronze omnioculars clenched tightly in his hand. "Got 'em!"

He passed them to Harry, who pressed his nose to the glass. "What do you see?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Not much, I can't read their lips from here… I reckon something bad happened, none of them looks too happy," he said. "Ichigo looks mad at something—"

Fred snorted. "Like that's anything new. Never cracks a smile, that one."

"—and the little white-haired kid looks annoyed, and… _Merlin_!" Harry reeled away from the window, omnioculars falling to the ground with a clatter. He stared at the figures outside, breathing heavily and looking horrified.

"Harry, mate?" Ron began worriedly, "What's wrong?"

Harry didn't speak, merely pointing one shaking finger at the group.

Ron grabbed the omnioculars hesitantly and looked outside. His eyes landed on the black-haired one, and he nearly dropped the lenses in surprise. "Bloody hell!"

"What is it?" Ginny demanded impatiently, taking the omnioculars for herself.

Ron shook his head in bewilderment. "It's his _chest_… there's a—"

"—_Hole_," Harry finished quietly. "Right through it, there's a _hole_."

Hermione stared. "Nonsense, I'm sure you must be mistaken – that'd be impossible—"

But Ginny shook her head, looking disturbed. "There's no mistake, Hermione. I see it too."

"But – but –" Hermione spluttered, looking back and forth between Harry and Ron and Ginny, "That's _impossible_! You'd _die_ if—"

"Wizards _can_ survive some pretty nasty stuff," Fred suggested slowly, peering through the omnioculars. "Remember that one guy, what was his name, the bloke who ate an entire venomous tentacula?"

"That was Derwent Shimpling," Hermione snapped. "And there's a difference between poisoning and _grievous_ _bodily_ _harm_—"

George raised an eyebrow dubiously. "Tentacula poisoning doesn't qualify as 'grievous bodily harm?'" he whispered to his twin, who snickered.

Hermione scowled. "You know what I mean! There's an enormous difference between the two! Poisonings can be countered by an antidote, whereas even the _best_ of St. Mungo's couldn't save someone with their chest blown out!" She shook her head. "There are all sorts of organs there, like the heart and lungs and things, not to mention several very important veins and arteries – even if the hole somehow managed to miss the heart and lungs, they would _still_ bleed out in a matter of seconds."

The other five looked at her blankly. "Er – what?"

"Honestly. Don't you know anything about anatomy?" Hermione demanded impatiently.

The Weasleys shook their heads, and Harry shrugged. "Not really," he admitted dryly. "Aunt Petunia never let me read that sort of thing; seemed to think I'd get 'ideas.'"

Hermione flushed. "Yes – well, I've been studying it a bit during the holidays, just to keep up with the other students in the neighborhood – believe me, it isn't possible to survive."

"It's not that we don't believe you or anything," protested Ron. "It's just – well, the bloke's standing there, isn't he? He's not dead."

Hermione bit her lip. "I can see that – but it doesn't _make sense_. By all rights, he _shouldn't_ be standing there. It's impossible."

Harry had just opened his mouth to reply when Ginny – the only one still watching the group outside – gave a startled noise. "_Look_!"

They all whipped around, peering through the filthy glass. It was immediately obvious that had attracted Ginny's attention, for a glowing set of paper doors had appeared out of thin air next to the white-haired boy.

"What in Merlin's beard—"

"—is _that_?" finished George. "Blimey, that looks like an old-fashioned portal."

"A what?" repeated Harry, confused.

"A portal," Ron explained hastily. "Takes you almost instantly from one place to another. Used to be, the fancier your portal, the better off you were, or something like that. Went out of fashion _ages_ ago, though. Haven't been used since we figured out Apparition."

"Not to mention they're damn difficult to maintain," muttered Fred. "Tend to collapse in on themselves."

"Lot of people died over the years from collapsing portals," George added. "That's why they're so hard to find these days. Oh look – they're going through."

Three of the four strangers stepped through the glowing doors, leaving the orange-haired teen and green toddler alone in the park. "How come the little green one stayed?" Ron wondered aloud, as the pair walked slowly (well, one was walking and the other riding like a parrot) to the door of Number Twelve. "He can't be more than – what, two or three, can he?"

Fred shrugged. "Dunno…"

George grinned. "Oh, Mum'll have _kittens_ over this. She _loves_ kids."

A loud shout echoed from the stairwell, followed moments later by the sound of feet pounding up the stairs. The doors banged open, and an irritated-looking Ichigo stomped in (though the effect was utterly ruined by the presence of the giggling child on his shoulder), followed closely by a slightly hysterical Sirius.

"You – you _seriously thought_ –" Sirius said between gales of laughter, "I'd be _n_—"

Ichigo glared. "Urusai, teme."

Sirius laughed. "But – _why_—?"

The Shinigami grimaced as he set the small child on the ground. "Yoruichi-san does the same thing. Caught me off guard enough times to be wary."

The wizard's eyes lit up in amusement. "And who is this Your-oo-ee-chi? A lovely young lady, perhaps?"

Ichigo snorted. "Young my ass. She's at least a couple _centuries_ older than me."

Sirius grinned. "That suits me just fine, I love the older ladies…" he said, waggling an eyebrow suggestively. The twins sniggered in the background, and Ron's ears burned red.

"Watch it," Ichigo warned, jerking his head in the direction of the toddler, who was currently examining the underside of the sofa interestedly. "There're kids in the room. And Yoruichi's taken, but you're welcome to try and fight off Urahara-san _and_ Soifon if you want."

"Who?"

He shrugged. "No one special, just a professional assassin and the resident prison-warden-turned-mad-scientist." He smirked when Sirius' face paled dramatically. "Hn. Thought not."

The tiny child emerged from under the sofa, coming over to tug on the hem of Ichigo's robe. "(Ne ne, Itsygo, look wats Nel founds!)" She shoved something lumpy, brown, and exceedingly smelly into his face. "(Food!)"

He grimaced. "(I don't think that's food, Nel. Where the hell did you find that?)" She pointed, and Ichigo looked vaguely nauseous. "(Ah – yeah. Don't eat that.)"

She frowned. "(Demo…)"

"(_Iie_. Put it back.)"

She did as asked, then returned to perch on his shoulder, arms crossed and pouting in the adorable fashion that seemed to be second nature to small children everywhere. Ichigo scowled in annoyance. "(I said _no_, Nel.)"

The wizards watched the whole exchange, looking highly amused. "Um, Ichigo… who's your friend?" Ginny asked.

He frowned. "Ano – gomen. This is Nel, I don't think she speaks English…" he glanced at her. "(Nel, these are Weasley Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny, Granger Hermione, and Potter Harry. Introduce yourself.)"

She looked up, noticing the crowd around her for the first time. She shrank under their collective gazes, vanished with a soft thumping noise and reappeared behind Ichigo, clutching tightly to the hem of his haori. "(Ano…)"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "(Nelliel. Be polite.)"

He nudged her with his foot, and the tiny girl shuffled forward. She mumbled something incoherent, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"(_Nelliel_.)"

"Nel desu!" she squeaked, still not raising her head to look at the assembled wizards. "Hajimemashite minna-san!" Introductions in order, the small Arrancar dodged back behind her captain, reappearing seconds later on his shoulder and attempting to hide behind his mop of orange hair.

The wizards stared. Ichigo sighed and folded his arms irritably. "Gomen ne. She _usually_ minds her manners better," he said, shooting a sideways glare at the girl. She at least had the decency to cringe.

Ginny smiled. "Hey – Nel, right?" she asked, addressing the child. "I'm Ginny. It's nice to meet you, I hope we can be friends."

There was a split second pause while Ichigo translated the redhead's greeting. Nel's face lit up. "(Weally?)"

The redheaded witch nodded, hiding a small smile. She could guess what the little girl was saying. "Really."

"Yatta!" Nel jumped off Ichigo's shoulder and ran over to Ginny, firing off a hundred questions a minute.

"Uh… she wants to know your favorite animal, favorite color, favorite food, favorite… Okay, there is no way in _hell_ I'm translating the rest of that for her," Ichigo muttered darkly. "(Nel. Stop it. I won't be your translator. If you want to talk to Ginny, you have to do it in _her_ language.)

Her bottom lip quivered. "(Demo… Engwish is so _hawd_!)"

"(You're a smart girl, Nel. You'll figure it out, and then you can ask her all about her favorite color and things.)" He smiled. "(Consider it an incentive for your hard work. Okay?)"

Nel gave a determined nod.

"(Good. Now repeat after me…)"

"Mai… ne-mu… isu… Neru," she said slowly and hesitantly. "Ito… isu… nai-su… tu… mii-to… yuu." Her brow furrowed in concentration and she continued, "Neru… In-gu-wishu no… ta-wuku… wewu?"

Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins exchanged mildly amused looks. Ichigo sighed. "Close enough," he muttered under his breath, though he too was smirking.

Ginny, however, smiled. "It is nice to meet you too, Nel. My name is Ginny," she said clearly, pointing to herself. "Would you like me to help you learn English?"

Nel's face scrunched up concentration. "Neru… Jinii-neechan… he-pu… In-gu-wishu?"

Ginny nodded. Nel grinned.

Hermione turned to Ichigo and beamed as Ginny led the small girl around the room, pointing out and naming the various objects in it. "She seems really sweet."

He shrugged. "Sweetheart of half the Seireitei, that one," he said almost fondly. "'Course, the other half thinks she's a menace."

"Surely she can't be that bad," Hermione said, frowning.

Ichigo snorted. "She's a highly destructive, very powerful Arrancar with poor impulse control," he drawled. "What part of that equation is _not_ to be feared?"

Hermione blinked. "Oh."

The doors to the drawing room burst open, emitting a rather irritated Mrs. Weasley, muttering furiously. "—honestly, the _nerve_, as though we haven't got enough to be worry about, oh no, he has to go and smuggle illegal _cauldrons_—" She broke off abruptly at the sight of her youngest child and the small blue-haired girl. "Oh… Ah, Ginny? Who…?"

Ginny beamed. "Mum, this is Nel. Nel, this is my mum. Say hello."

Ichigo translated. Nel waved shyly, shrinking back behind Ginny's ankles. "Ano… konnitsywa, Jinii-neechan no kaa-san."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Why, hello Nel. It's very nice to meet you."

Nel grinned, and about two seconds later the small Arrancar was running circles around the Weasley matron, bombarding her with questions. Fred and George were busy smothering laughter, and Ichigo sighed resignedly. "Nel…" he began, a hint of warning in his voice.

Mrs. Weasley glanced at him, her expression torn between amusement and disapproval. "Is she your…?"

He shook his head. "Not my daughter, no."

Her expression became relieved. "Then how…?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Officially, she's a ward of the gobantai, which makes her _my_ ward. Unofficially, I think she's adopted me into the 'Great Desert Brothers' or whatever the hell they decided to call themselves—"

"Bandith Nel-Itsy-Don-Pe!" Nel squeaked indignantly from the floor. She'd understood _that_ much, at least.

He rolled his eyes. "See what I mean?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "She certainly seems like a wonderful girl." She turned to the rest of the group. "Well, don't all just stand around, we've got work that needs doing. Those cabinets aren't going to clean themselves, you know." The Weasleys all groaned in unison before shuffling off to the center of the room. Their mother glanced at the Shinigami. "Are you coming?"

He paused. He really _should_ be getting to work on analyzing Ulquiorra's report… on the other hand, the wizards were far more interesting (and far less nauseating) than the laboratory notes. Not to mention he practically _hear_ the Hollow threatening to eviscerate him at the thought of even _more_ mind-numbing paperwork. He sighed, withdrawing the enormous file folder from inside his robes and setting it down on the coffee table. He'd look at it when there was a lull in activity, he assured himself. But for now… "Aa, sure."

Harry eyed his cousin warily as he grabbed one of Agatha's Bottomless Rubbish Bags from a box on a sideboard. He hadn't forgotten the vision of the man with a hole in his chest from before, and from the look on Hermione's face, neither had she. She shot him a questioning look, and Harry shook his head warningly. Now was not the time to be asking questions, not with Mrs. Weasley in the room. 'Later,' he mouthed, and she nodded understandingly, motioning for Ron to stay quiet. He closed his mouth with a snap and nodded solemnly.

They would interrogate him later.

-0-

Ichigo found it surprisingly hard work, emptying the cabinets. Of course, he hadn't been expecting several of the shelves' occupants to be quite so… _reluctant_ to leave their spots, but in retrospect, it really shouldn't have been all that surprising. After all, the library books had done the same thing.

He glared daggers at a small, spindly metallic instrument that was attempting to puncture his arm. Good luck to it; between a bastardized version of Kenpachi's reiatsu armoring technique and hierro, his skin had roughly the same impenetrability as a six-inch slab of solid steel. He grabbed it with his free hand and squeezed, and was rather pleased to feel it crumple into scrap metal. He tossed it and what look suspiciously like an award unceremoniously into the rubbish sack.

The cleaning passed rather uneventfully otherwise, though Fred almost lost a finger to a rather voracious copy of _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_, Sirius uncovered a box of wart cap powder that made it look as though he was wearing a very ugly glove (Ichigo had promptly banned Nel from eating the stuff), and Ginny smashed what was otherwise a perfectly acceptable music box, except that it made them all feel rather sleepy and lightheaded.

It was only when Harry unearthed an old, very dirty locket that he noticed it. Something twitched on the edges of his senses, and he looked up, slightly alarmed. It was the same sort of feeling one got when faced with someone like Aizen – cold, calculating, and unbearably _cruel_. But it was so weak… how could they have that sort of reiatsu if they didn't have the power to back it up? Unless they were very far away… but if that were the case, what could they possibly be doing that could make their reiatsu felt from hundreds of miles away?

Nel tugged insistently on the sleeve of his shihakushou. "(Ne, Itsygo…)" she whispered, pointing at the locket, which George was attempting to pry open with his fingertips. "(Ano…)"

He nodded. "Oi, Weasley," he called, walking over to group now gathering around George, who still hadn't had any luck in opening it, "What's that you got?"

"An – old – locket –" said the Weasley twin, between grunts of effort. "Bloody – thing – won't – _open _– OUCH!" A fingernail had caught under the edge, ripping it off its bed. George shot the offending piece of jewelry an irritable glare. "Dammit. That _hurt_."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow curiously. "Can I see?"

"You want to give it a go?" Fred asked. "Be our guest. None of us has managed."

He passed it to the Shinigami, who immediately dropped it the floor with a dull _thunk_, biting back a hiss of pain. He eyed the locket warily, massaging the injured limb gently. The skin of his hand where it had touched the locket was raw and red, as though burned. The second he had touched it, it had felt as though his reiatsu was being drawn into it, like water to a sponge. He'd felt as though he was being pulled into it, or rather that _it_ wanted to pull him into its depths and never let him out. It was… almost like the locket could think for itself. What sort of 'inanimate' object could do _that_?

"(Don't touch that Nel,)" he said sharply, as she reached out to pick it up off the floor. _What the hell was that?_

_Ya tell me,_ the Hollow muttered. _Did a fair bit o' damage in 'ere._

_What happened?_ Ichigo asked in alarm.

_Small earthquake, nothin' too big… 'Cept this big black thin' appeared in the sky, suckin' stuff in. Me an' Zangetsu are fine, but we mighta lost a few trees_.

_Huh…_ He was pulled out of his thoughts, blinking as Fred waved a hand in his face, looking vaguely concerned.

"You alright? You spaced out for a minute."

He shook his head. "I'm fine. What the hell is that thing?" he asked, gesturing to the fallen locket.

Ron raised an eyebrow curiously. "It's just a locket, mate. Don't they have those where you come from?"

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "You mean you didn't feel it?"

"Feel _what_?"

"The – never mind. Does anyone have a cloth I can borrow? Thanks," he added, as Ginny passed him a wet cleaning rag she had been using to wipe dust off the shelves. He wrapped his hands securely in the rag and retrieved the discarded locket from the floor. It didn't hurt nearly as much as before – something for which he was immensely grateful – but he could still feel it tugging at him. On an impulse, he let a small amount of reiryoku flicker around his fingertips, and immediately the black light began spiraling down into the center of the locket.

The wizards stared. "Wicked," Fred whispered, watching with a sort of morbid fascination.

Ichigo smiled grimly. "Dammit. Was afraid of that." He shook his head and drew back his hand. The piece of jewelry pulled at the last tendrils of reiatsu, leaving black threads of energy trailing through the air, until they too were sucked hungrily into the center of the locket. He set it carefully on a nearby table before turning back to the group.

Ginny eyed the locket nervously. "What… what happened? It didn't do that to any of us…"

"It wouldn't. It… you aren't…" he shook his head distractedly. "…Let's just say it wouldn't."

"What is it?" Ron asked. "Some sort of dark artifact?"

The Shinigami shrugged. "I don't know _what_ it is." He glanced up, looking at the assembled wizards. "Is there anywhere I can keep this so the house elf won't take it?" Kreacher had been going and out all day, trying to steal various knickknacks they were intent on discarding; it usually resulted in Sirius shouting at him to 'get out.'

"Why?"

"This thing… it isn't _natural_. There are only a few things I've ever heard of that absorb reiryoku like that, and _none_ of them mean anything good. I want to have it examined."

He wrapped the locket back in the rag and retrieved the file folder from the coffee table. "I should get back to work. Nel? You coming?"

The small girl nodded and jumped on his shoulder. "Ja ne," he said, shutting the door softly behind him.

-0-

Ichigo did not appear at dinner that night, or the night after. The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione saw little of him at all over the next few days, apart from the occasions where he emerged from the library to help them clean, muttering something about 'imminent disembowelment.' On the days when he did find the time to eat, he usually ended up bringing a sheet of paper and book to the table, or spent the entire meal interrogating either Sirius or occasionally Lupin, scribbling away in tiny, incomprehensible symbols as he ate. When asked what he was so busy working on, he'd simply scowl and give a noncommittal answer before returning to the page.

Nel was considerably more affable than her aloof captain. Her English improved rapidly – she was forming coherent sentences after barely three days – and so she spent most of her time with Ginny and Hermione, both of whom seemed to have fallen for the little girl. It became something of a game for the twins to see what they could get the girl to eat without her getting sick and/or Ichigo finding out about it, as they were fairly certain he would kill them, remove their intestines, and drag their entrails across London (and not necessarily in that order) for hurting the small child who was (whether he admitted it or not) like a daughter to him. Even Mrs. Weasley did not seem to mind the girl's presence, despite the fact that Nel tended to _make_ more messes than she helped clean up.

The girl was also a good deal more forthcoming as to what her captain was up to while he was buried elbow-deep in paper, though what they gleaned from her random babbling made no sense to them whatsoever. What little they _did_ understand was mostly reiteration of what Ichigo himself had admitted, but listening to Nel's chatter _did_ provide them with several new words and phrases to look for.

And so it was, armed with this new information, that Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves huddled in the second-floor bedroom a few days later, pouring over four years' worth of notes and Hermione's book collection, looking for anything at all that might help shed some light on the puzzle that was Harry's cousin. If there was one thing the trio prided themselves on, it was unraveling mysteries – and Ichigo certainly presented a challenge.

Ron groaned in frustration as he slammed shut Hermione's copy of _Archaic Magics and their Practices_. "This is _boring_. Can't we do something else for a change? How about a game of chess? Gobstones? Exploding Snap, anyone?"

Hermione glared at him over the top of _Magical Cultures from Around the World_. "Honestly, Ronald. You've only been reading for an hour—"

"And it's been one hour too long, 'Mione. C'mon, it's the bloody holidays! Dunno 'bout you, but I think _I'd_ rather spend my vacation having _fun_, rather than reading dusty old books all day."

She frowned, possibly at the implication that reading books wasn't 'fun.' "Aren't you even the least bit interested in where they come from?"

No one had to ask who 'they' were.

"Well, yeah, I am – I just think there're better ways to be spending the time. All this research stuff is for the school year, not the summer holidays. Man's got to have his priorities right, doesn't he?" Ron shrugged noncommittally. "I mean, we've been searching every day for the past week, and we haven't found anything. I hate to say it, 'Mione, but maybe there just isn't anything to be found."

She pursed her lips irritably. "Don't be ridiculous, Ron. There's got to be _something_, there always is. It's just a matter of where to look."

"Then maybe we're not looking in the right place," he said exasperatedly. "Maybe it isn't in _your_ books – maybe it's hidden in the library, in the restricted section – we'll never find it here. I'm just saying, maybe it'd be better to wait until the school year starts."

"Yes, well…" Hermione's brow furrowed as she glanced over at the stack of textbooks and notes piled neatly on the top of the old desk. "We can't know that it _isn't_ here until we eliminate all our options. I'm almost positive it's in there somewhere – I made a point to get at least one book on every possible wizarding subject… I'm sure it is. We just have to keep looking."

"Ron's got a point, Hermione," Harry said, looking up from _The History of Magic: Prehistory – c.400 CE._ "We haven't found anything yet, and we've looked through everything that has even the slightest chance of having what we're looking for. I don't think the potions and herbology books will help, and they're about all that's left. It'd be a waste of time if we went through those."

Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Maybe, but—" Her eyes lit up excitedly. "—_That's it_! Why I didn't think of it before—"

She was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Mrs. Weasley poked her head in.

"Come downstairs, you lot. Dinner in—" she broke off abruptly, glancing around at all the textbooks and notes scattered across the room. "Oh, what are you working on?"

"Just homework," Ron supplied quickly. "Transfiguration essay for McGonagall."

Mrs. Weasley beamed. "Good for you, dear, I was worried you'd put it off until the end of summer again." Ron's ears burned red. "Well, come downstairs, dinner will be ready in a moment."

"Alright Mum."

Hermione turned to the others as they went to follow the Weasley matron out into the hall. "I'll tell you later – I think I know how we can keep searching."

"Where?" asked Harry in a low voice as the three of them sat down around the kitchen table.

The bushy-haired girl grinned. "The _library_."

Harry blinked for a moment, before his face broke into a wide smile. "_Brilliant_."

A scuffling noise sounded from the stairway, and a tiny, green-clad figure barreled in, followed (at a much more sedate pace) by the black-robed Shinigami, carrying a truly _massive_ file folder tucked under his arm. As Nel ran off to 'help' Mrs. Weasley and Ginny set the table, Ichigo set the papers on the table and sat down heavily next to Mr. Weasley.

"Yo," he muttered, spooning a pile of baked potatoes onto his plate.

"Hey yourself," Harry replied, taking the proffered bowl of potatoes with a nod of thanks. He glanced at the folder. "You write all that?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Most of it. The rest is all references." He grimaced. "Spent most of today and yesterday copying down all the sources… took forever."

Ron looked vaguely gobsmacked at the idea that someone would put that much effort into a report, but Hermione beamed proudly. "Good for you, Ichigo. I keep telling these two to be careful and always cite their sources properly, but they never listen to me. And they always wonder why their essays never receive high marks – it's a wonder, really."

He grunted.

Dinner passed uneventfully, except for when Ichigo attempted to instruct Nel in the proper use of chopsticks (or as he called them, 'hashi'), to the great amusement of the others around the table. Mrs. Weasley eventually took 'pity' on the frustrated Shinigami and passed Nel a fork and spoon. Ichigo finally gave up when the girl started using her silverware as an improvised drum set, and resigned himself to allowing his ward to eat with her hands.

It was safer that way.

As they were tucking in to a rather delicious treacle tart (courtesy of Mrs. Weasley), the aforementioned matron turned to Harry.

"I've ironed out your best clothes for tomorrow, and I want you to wash your hair tonight, too. A good first impression can work wonders, you know."

Silence fell around the table as they all turned to look at Harry, who gulped audibly. "Right," he said, doing his best to keep his voice light and casual, despite the fact that his mouth had turned very, very dry. "So, um… how am I getting there, then?"

"Arthur's taking you to work with him in the morning," she said gently.

"You can wait in my office until the hearing," Mr. Weasley added from across the table.

Harry glanced at Sirius, looking vaguely hopeful. It was something they'd discussed a while ago, while they'd been dusting out an old cabinet on the second floor – Sirius would come with him to the hearing (as the dog, obviously, not the human – that would just be stupid), to be – in his words – 'moral support.' Harry had privately agreed; any support at all would be wonderful, and though he hoped – _prayed_ – the headmaster would make an appearance, he was feeling rather put-out with the old man at the moment, given the unusually cold shoulder he'd received over the past few months.

"Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for Sirius to go with you," Mrs. Weasley said, answering his unasked question. "And I must say I—"

"Think he's _quite right_," Sirius growled, glaring daggers at his dessert.

Harry stared blankly at his plate, suddenly much less interested in his tart. "Oh."

Ichigo glanced at Harry from across the table. "The hearing's tomorrow?"

The bespectacled boy nodded numbly. "Yeah, it is."

"Hn. Well, good luck. Kick ass tomorrow, ne?" He clapped his cousin on the shoulder and stood, gathering up the file folder and his discarded zanpakutou. "I'd better get going," he said, addressing the elder Weasleys. "Meeting's at nine and there're a couple things I want to check on back at the office first. Thanks for dinner."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "Of course, I understand. Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you before you go; he's in the meeting room now."

As Ichigo motioned to Nel and climbed the staircase into the hallway, Harry couldn't help but feel slightly angry as he stabbed viciously at his plate of treacle tart. Dumbledore was there, _at Grimmauld Place _and he couldn't even be bothered to speak to Harry the _night before the goddamned hearing_.

The fact that the old headmaster had wanted to speak to _Ichigo_, and not _Harry_, made the young wizard feel – if it were possible – even worse.

-0-

Professor Dumbledore smiled brightly as Ichigo entered the small ballroom and immediately conjured a fourth plush chintz armchair out of thin air. "Ah, Mr. Kurosaki. Thank you for coming – sit, sit," he added, gesturing to the newly-conjured chair. "How are you doing?"

Ichigo eyed the chair warily, but sat down anyway. Nel promptly hopped up onto his lap, looking around at the three wizards. Snape glowered, but McGonagall's expression softened at the sight of the small child. "Fine. Better if I could _get_ _on_ _the_ _road_. What do you want?"

Snape bristled. "Watch your tongue, brat. Don't you have any _manners_?" He glared at Nel, who shrank slightly under his harsh gaze. "And what is a _child_ doing here? The Order is for grown _adults_ only. Shouldn't the brat be _in bed_ or something by now?"

Nel stop cringing and glared hatefully at the greasy-haired man. Her reiatsu flared slightly, and Ichigo laid a calming hand on her head. She shot him a questioning look, and he nodded imperceptibly. "This is Nelliel Tu Odelshvanck. I'd trust her with my life – have on several occasions. Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of her as well."

Dumbledore nodded. "Naturally, naturally. Well, I'm sure you're wondering why I called you here."

Ichigo shot him a look that clearly said '_No shit. Get on with it, old man_.'

The wizened old man cleared his throat. "I understand you will be returning to your superiors tonight, correct?" At a confirming nod from the Shinigami, he continued, "Now, it occurs to me that you still owe me a favor, for allowing you to access the Black texts. After much thought and deliberation, I believe I have found a way for you to repay that debt."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed slightly, and Snape and McGonagall both glanced at Dumbledore in alarm.

"I will give you the details of your assignment once you return from your meeting. Once you're back in the country, you will use this portkey –" he extracted an old, tarnished amulet from somewhere inside his robes, "Which will take you straight to my office at Hogwarts. Do you know how to use portkeys?" Ichigo shook his head. "They're objects that can instantly transport someone from one location to another. Simply ensure that you and anyone you wish to bring along are touching it at the moment of activation; a finger will suffice. This particular portkey activates at the phrase 'Lemon Drops.' Do you understand what you must do?"

Nel looked curiously at the golden amulet as Ichigo took it. He nodded slowly; he had not missed the not-very-subtle request to bring his superior officer with him when he returned. "I hope you understand, Dumbledore-san, that I'm unable to do anything that goes against my orders."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "I do not believe there will be any conflict."

Ichigo pocketed the amulet and stood. "We'll be going then, unless there's anything else?" Dumbledore shook his head. The Shinigami gestured to the tiny Arrancar, who dutifully hopped up onto his shoulder. In one smooth motion he had unsheathed Zangetsu and thrust the massive blade into apparently empty air. And to the utter amazement of the three wizards, a set of glowing doors appeared, and a small, jet-black butterfly flew out of the opening portal.

McGonagall rounded on Dumbledore as the Senkaimon slammed shut behind the odd pair. "Albus – what—?"

He merely shook his head, eyes twinkling. "It appears there is still much we do not know about Mr. Kurosaki. How interesting… very interesting indeed."

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_-sama: an honorific indicating great respect_

_sombra: shadow (Spanish)_

_namahage: spirits/demons that warn children not to be lazy or cry; approximate equivalent of the western 'boogeyman'_

_desu: verb indicating state of being; a bit like English 'to be,' but also fills other roles; formal_

_minna: everyone_

_yatta: yay, hooray, etc._

_demo: but, however, etc._

_nee-: sister (neechan does not necessarily indicate actual sisterhood, but is more a term of familiarity or friendship, affection, etc.)_

_konnichiwa: hello (formal)_

_no: a particle usually indicating possession; normally fulfills the role of 'of'_

_kaa-: mother_

_

* * *

_

Greetings to you all.

Here is chapter seven. I can only pray it has lived up to everyone's expectations. Next update will probably be Tuesday.

A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Fat ppl are harder to kidnap, KianaNic, Obiki Doragon, Misting Rain, willi890, kuroyukihime2, mist shadow, Lazy Historian, home dawg fo shizzle, DrgnMstr, xXSweetestXAngelXNightmareXx, cheekyangel1881, Em Phantom, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, dragonXXforte, Jiuriana-Chan, anonymous, Crackerjaxx, A.C.Y.P, marc, Basia Orci, TsukiakariNoMichi, Escapedslave99, JessieKage, Parry Otter 351, Random Reviewer, RosieZombified, Not Yet Knowing, Anon, and Taio Kaiona for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks.

I'm going to apologize now for the horrible, horrible butchering of a very thick Japanese accent in the middle. I have no idea how to write one and based pretty much everything off known pronunciations of similar-sounding hiragana/katakana... I did not intend to insult native speakers of the language, and if I have (which is likely), I apologize deeply.

I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know.

Much love,  
Nesarna  
10/17/10


	8. Theories

_**DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes.**_

_**IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine.**_

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Eighth

-0-

The moment Ichigo and Nel stepped out of the Senkaimon, they were tackled to the ground by two large, multi-colored shapes.

"NEL-SAMA!"

Ichigo struggled out from under the joyous, overly-emotional reunion of Nel and her fracción, brushing dust off his robe. He spotted Grimmjow a few meters away, leaning against the wall and smirking. "Urusai," Ichigo growled, heading off down the hallway to his office. The Senkaimon had deposited him and Nel in the middle of the mostly-deserted Fifth Division, and he waved idly to the few unranked Shinigami who'd dared to stay with the squad after Ichigo'd taken the reins nearly fifteen years ago. Most of its members, upon realizing that their new Captain would be bringing in several Arrancar, had taken him up on his offer to get transferred to the other divisions as a way out. The Fifth had a long way to go before it could return to its previous size, but its population was slowly increasing as new recruits trickled in from the Academy. Very, _very_ slowly, but progress was progress.

Personally, Ichigo had to wonder at the paranoia some of his former subordinates. Yes, he could understand considering Grimmjow and Ulquiorra as 'dangerous' (hell, they'd nearly killed _him_ a few times – and Ulquiorra had actually _succeeded_. _Twice._), but really – Nel? Maybe when she used her special 'Super Awesome Hyper Flying Mega Tackle' technique…

He motioned to the Espada to follow as Shiro flickered into view, black haori billowing. The Hollow yawned widely. "'Bout damn time, was wonderin' 'ow lon' I'd be stuck in there."

Grimmjow raised an eyebrow as he fell into step beside his captains. "Was wonderin' where the hell you went. How come you had to hide again?"

Shirosaki scowled, his expression temporarily identical to that of his Shinigami counterpart. "Wasn' my idea. Ukitake figgered it'd be better if we didn' go pissin' off the local folks. Blame 'im."

The Espada shot a sideways look at Ichigo, who grimaced. "I wasn't happy with it either, but we didn't want to go starting up _another_ war. That's just asking for all kinds of shit." He slid open a side door and passed deeper into the compound before continuing, "Anything happen in the past few days?"

Grimmjow shrugged nonchalantly, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hakama. "Nothin' worth mentionin'. Ain't nobody heard from Koga an' Ran yet. Last I knew Noba'd pinned 'em down to somewhere in South America. Probably the Andes."

Ichigo nodded slightly in understanding. He slid open a second door and stepped inside. His office was rather bare at the moment (seeing as Grimmjow had destroyed most of his living room set in a fit of rage a few weeks before), furnished only with a large writing desk, chairs, and the lone coffee table that had miraculously survived the Espada's rampage. A massive bookcase stood against one of the walls, piled high with books, scrolls, and the occasional small glass figurine. A second stack of books sat on the abused table.

His scowl lessened slightly at the sight of the books, pleased that the jigokuchou had managed to deliver the volumes from Grimmauld Place successfully. The ability for the tiny bugs to deliver packages, as well as relay messages, was a relatively new development in the field of butterfly-technology. Apparently one of the juunibantai's lab technicians (rumor claimed it was the Tsubokura kid) had had the idea while tinkering with one of Aizen's old cajas de negación. Kurotsuchi had pounced on the concept, and six weeks later was churning out the new 'hanjigokuchou' for field testing.

The project had hit several major roadblocks over the course of its development – the genetically-altered hell butterflies kept getting sucked into the pocket dimension as well, resulting in catastrophic loss of paperwork (not that anyone seemed to be seriously complaining about _that_ particular tragic loss), but Kurotsuchi persevered, claiming the idea had far too much potential to be discarded out of hand. A few kinks still needed to be worked out of the system (interdimensional travel was still occasionally hazardous for the modified bugs and their parcels), but it usually worked fairly well.

Ichigo turned back to Grimmjow. "I need to talk to Urahara about something before the meeting. You know where he is?"

The Espada glared. "Che, why the hell would I know?" he growled. After a moment he shrugged. "Check Squad Twelve – he's been hangin' out there a lot lately."

Ichigo nodded. "Arigatou." He paused at the door. "Try not to blow anything up _too_ much, will you?" And he vanished with a swish of shunpo, leaving the two Hollows alone in the office.

-0-

It was times like these that Urahara Kisuke remembered he wasn't as young as he used to be.

His whole body ached with exhaustion. He'd been awake the better part of the past seven days, helping Kurotsuchi Mayuri examine the corpse of the 'dementor' Ichigo and Anzu had recovered. It had been unpleasant work; despite them doing their best to maintain the integrity of the specimen, the stench of rotting flesh had been almost unbearable. More than a few of Kurotsuchi's assistants had had to excuse themselves in the middle of a procedure to avoid emptying the contents of their stomachs all over the exam table. Urahara had felt the same on several occasions, especially when he'd read through Szayel Aporro Grantz's own dissection notes, trying to compare the thing in front of him with the thing described on paper.

Kurotsuchi hadn't even so much as grimaced throughout the whole procedure. Kisuke really had to wonder what that said about the man.

And so it was several intestine-spattered lab coats and blood-covered scalpels later that the head and ex-head of the Technology Bureau had emerged from their bunker, both exhausted but ultimately successful. Their analysis of the dementor's remains had reaped several benefits, as they now had a better understanding of how the creature lived and its life cycle.

It had, however, brought them no closer to figuring out what the hell it was.

If anything, the examination proved to be utterly baffling in that regard. It had been very clearly _not_ Hollow – there was no evidence of either hole or mask – but it was also very clearly _not_ a conventional human soul (Shinigami or otherwise) as there was neither saketsu nor inga no kusari. In fact, that unexplainable absence was the most confusing aspect of the creature's anatomy; those two features were present on _both_ Hollows and Shinigami, regardless of power level or age.

Urahara had, remembering the possibility Ichigo had suggested earlier, taken reiatsu measurements from both Nel's former fracción and that Ikkanzaka fellow Ishida had stripped of his powers back during the suicidal invasion of Seireitei all those years ago. Although the dementor no longer emitted any reiatsu of its own, he had noticed a few potential similarities between the samples he had taken. Mayuri disagreed on the accuracy of the data, given the deterioration of the dementor's own aura, but Kisuke was certain there was a connection between the three datasets. He just had to figure out _how_ they were related.

That was the difficult part, unfortunately. Without a second, fresher specimen – Mayuri would have preferred a live one, and for once Urahara found himself in agreement – they would never be able to prove or disprove any of their running theories. Kurotsuchi speculated the thing was one of Aizen's leftover experiments, and while Urahara could see the similarities between the dementor and some of monsters the insane mastermind had bred, his gut told him that wasn't the answer. For one thing, if it _was_ one of Aizen's, how the hell had it ended up all the way on the other side of the globe? Even Aizen, in all his sociopathic, megalomaniacal glory, had never – to their knowledge, at any rate – expressed an interest in the other jurisdictions.

_And thank Kami-sama for that_, Urahara thought, accepting a cup of tea with a nod of thanks. The lab technician – a small, mousy woman, probably a fresh recruit from the Academy – bowed deeply before withdrawing back into the juunibantai's barracks. Kisuke returned his gaze to the sunrise. He was currently perched on the roof of the Twelfth's central building, looking out over the rooftops of the maze-like Seireitei. He had little doubt the elder Kurotsuchi would yell himself hoarse if he found his former boss sitting on the roof, but at the moment Kisuke didn't really care, nor did Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou seem to mind keeping his present location quiet.

If Nemu hadn't been so fiercely loyal to her 'father,' he would have been seriously tempted to hire the girl as one of his own assistants. Damn.

Urahara frowned slightly as he felt a very familiar reiatsu approaching. While his former protégé had matured by leaps and bounds during and after the War, some things adamantly refused to change. Like his reiatsu control, which still hovered somewhere between 'barely acceptable' and 'awful.'

"Ohayou, Ichigo-kun," he said, smiling tiredly as the Vaizard in question appeared next him on the rooftop. "How is my star pupil today?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "I'm your _only_ pupil, geta-boushi. Which is probably a good thing, considering all the shit you've put me through," he added, sitting down next to the older man.

"Maa, you're so cruel, Ichigo-kun," Urahara admonished, though without any real venom. It was a long-standing argument between student and mentor, but neither put much heart into it anymore. They kept at it mostly for the sake of tradition. "What can I do for you this fine morning?"

Ichigo's expression turned serious. "I need your help with something."

The man raised an eyebrow. It was rare for Ichigo to come to him for help these days – that alone piqued the old shopkeeper's interest. "Since you're asking me now, and not while we're presenting our findings, I can assume this isn't related to the specimen we examined."

The orange-haired Shinigami shook his head. "No, it isn't. Or I don't think it is, anyway," he amended.

Urahara nodded. "Then what is it?"

Ichigo shrugged uncomfortably. "There's… Some weird shit's going on in England," he began, before launching into an explanation about Wizarding culture, his cousin's history with the self-proclaimed 'Dark Lord,' his recent resurrection, and Ichigo's own theories about how _that_ had happened. Urahara didn't look particularly surprised at the revelation of the hidden community's existence.

"Seireitei _does_ keep tabs on the mortal world," he said, noticing his student's look of confusion. "We've known about the so-called 'secret' community for centuries, as their abnormally high reiatsu tends to attract Hollows. But since the Japanese population never made a move to interfere with the afterlife, the Seireitei has largely left them alone. My shop occasionally attracts customers outside our normal clientele – we've had a couple oddballs come in over the years. The last was about ten years ago, some fellow trying to sell us an egg of some sort. I believe it's still in suspended animation somewhere in our storeroom.

"Anyway, your severed-chain theory," he continued, his expression pensive. "I suspect you're right. The _Avada_ curse probably forcibly cuts the inga no kusari. We can't know for certain until we see it in action, but we don't have that option. On the other hand, just because the Chain is severed, it doesn't mean the soul can't return to the body. Remember, _your_ chain is broken and you're still able to use your body."

Ichigo grimaced. "Don't remind me. I'm still mad at you for that. You could've _told_ me you were gonna kill me when you did that."

Urahara smiled faintly. "I _did_ tell you there would be consequences, Ichigo-kun."

"Yeah, yeah," Ichigo muttered. "So what do you think? Could Lord Whatisface be a Hollow?"

Kisuke shrugged. "Personally I doubt it, but I wouldn't dismiss the idea until we take readings on the man's reiatsu. The average Hollow can't use a gigai, they just aren't built for it. Their nerve endings simply don't line up with the neural receptors on the inside of the gigai. Theoretically, a smaller Adjuchas or a Vasto Lorde might have more luck, but that still begs the question of why one would _bother._ Any Hollow that attempts to use one has to deal with neuron misalignment and synapse incongruities, not to mention incompatible axon patterns, dendrite structure, glial ratios… They _could_ inhabit a gigai, but it wouldn't function well at all; it'd be far more trouble than it's worth. Arrancar are exceptions due to having almost identical anatomy to Shinigami, but as a general rule, it's impossible. At the very _least_ it's astronomically improbable."

"So he really _did_ come back from the dead."

"No. It isn't possible to 'come back,'" Urahara said, shaking his head. "Present company excepted, of course," he added with a grin. Ichigo scowled, but didn't say anything. Kisuke's expression turned serious again. "My guess is his soul didn't Hollowfy properly. He may have remained a demi-Hollow for several years – if the location where the soul is tied isn't disturbed, there isn't anything to cause the Chain to deteriorate. So if his soul was bound to an obscure location…" he shrugged again. "It's possible. I'll look into it." Urahara glanced at his protégé. "Was that all?"

"No," Ichigo said after a moment. "I ran across something I want you to take a look at. There's something weird about it. It… it _eats _reishi. Literally. Sort of like the Bount did when they were here, only about ten times worse."

"That sounds bad."

"It burned me when I touched it. Caused some damage in my inner world as well."

The old shopkeeper whistled lowly. Inner worlds were notoriously difficult to affect by outside forces – they were, quite literally, bound within the deepest recesses of a person's mind and soul. There was no deeper expression of an individual than their personal universe – to violate _that_ was… almost unheard of. "Oh dear. That _does_ sound bad. Did you bring it with you?"

Ichigo shook his head. "No. If it did _that_ to _me_, I don't want to know what it'd do in a _world_ composed of reishi."

Urahara frowned. "Understandable. So it's still back in the human world, yes?"

"Aa. You'll probably have to use a gigai if you want to actually get anywhere near it."

"I see," Urahara murmured thoughtfully. "Hmm. Well, once the current crisis blows over, I'll swing by and take a look at it."

Ichigo nodded. "Arigatou."

"Think nothing of it, Ichigo-kun." Urahara smiled widely beneath the brim of his hat. "It's always a pleasure to help my favorite student. Put it on my tab," he added, ignoring the squawking protests of his former protégé. He clapped the gobantai taichou on the shoulder amiably. "Just think, Ichigo-kun, at this rate you'll have it all your debts to me paid off in about five centuries!"

Ichigo groaned in reply.

-0-

"So, they really are real?"

Shirosaki raised an eyebrow as he ducked under Grimmjow's sword before thrusting upwards with Zangetsu, blocking the open-handed strike he knew had been coming. "Whacha talkin' 'bout?"

Grimmjow scowled and dodged the retaliatory kick aimed at his head. "Them. _Las_ _sombras_."

"Che." The massive black and white blade swung through the air, drawing a thin red line of blood across the Espada's chest. "Ya know 'em?"

The former Sexta ignored the injury, seeing as several more just like it littered his body. Shiro didn't seem to have a scratch on him, but that was only because he'd started tapping into his regeneration abilities. Lucky bastard. "Just rumors." He threw another haymaker at his opponent, who twisted out of way just in time. "Shawlong knew more, he was the oldest of us."

Shirosaki frowned slightly he sent a vicious uppercut at the Arrancar's chin. Grimmjow shifted slightly to avoid it. "Toushirou killed 'im, didn' 'e?"

"Yep." The Espada didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the death of his former comrade and fracción. He grinned as Pantera's blade bit into the other Hollow's side, blood spurting from the wound and dyeing the white shihakushou a dark, blackish red. Shiro grimaced and funneled reiatsu towards the wound, and it sealed up in a burst of steam almost immediately.

"Whaddaya know?" he asked, dancing out of the way of another brutal punch aimed at his stomach.

Grimmjow shrugged, bringing up his zanpakutou to block a wild swing that would have severed his head clean off his shoulders. "Nothin' specific. Sometimes we'd hear stories, but that was it. Scared the settled-folk shitless, I know that much."

"Hn. Ya don' say. Anythin' else?"

"Las sombras appear in numerous myths among La Ciudad's inhabitants. All the stories cannot possibly be true, but at the same time, all legends must have a basis in fact… It is worrying."

Both combatants halted, mid-strike, and glanced over at the edge of the gobantai's training field. Ulquiorra sat on one of the benches that lined the edge of the field, staring off into space. Neither had felt him approach, but they had been throwing around so much reiatsu during their brawl that that was hardly a surprise.

Shiro blinked. The former Cuarta looked unusually pensive; odd, since he normally kept his emotions closely guarded. His expressiveness had improved – _slightly_ – after he'd met Inoue, but most of the time he was still about as emotional as a rock. "Whatcha mean?"

Ulquiorra shook his head as though to clear his thoughts. "There are so many legends surrounding the existence of las sombras, it is difficult to separate fact from fiction. However, all the legends are so similar that it cannot possibly be coincidence; there must be a grain of truth hidden inside," he said, leaning forward in his seat. "What that grain could be, however, is worrying, as all the myths together are terrifying to imagine."

Shiro scoffed. "Yer scared o' some little kids' stories, Ulquiorra? Damn, an' 'ere I was thinkin' ya weren' afraid o' nothin'!" He glanced at the Sexta, fully expecting a predatory grin to be blossoming on his face, only to see a similarly disturbed expression gracing his features. "Don' tell me yer scared too, neko-chan!"

That seemed to be enough to snap the Sexta out of his mood, and he glared. "Shut up, you bastard. You ain't heard the stories…"

The Cuarta sent him a faintly annoyed glare over the tips of his steepled fingers. "I am not afraid. Simply… concerned, Shirosaki-taichou."

Shiro's grin faded. "All the same," he said, planting the tip of the white Zangetsu in the ground and leaning on the handle, "Anythin' that 'concerns' the both o' _you_ 'as ta be pretty nasty."

Grimmjow shifted uneasily. "Like I said, sometimes we'd hear rumors," he said reluctantly. "When we were near one of La Ciudad's outposts. Las sombras, they were called. Nobody ever said much, 'specially to us wanderin'-Hollows, but you got a bad feelin' in the pit of your stomach whenever somebody brought 'em up. Like I said, seemed to scare the settled folks shitless. Was enough for us to be wary, even if we never knew why."

"One of the stories I heard while living in La Ciudad concerned a Vasto Lorde by the name of Kallikrat," Ulquiorra began slowly. "He was, according to legend, one of the original Vasto Lordes, the first Hollow King. His was renowned as a hunter; he frequently traveled back and forth between the living realm and Hueco Mundo, searching for the most powerful souls to consume. No man or beast could stand up to him; one myth relates the battle between Kallikrat and the original Shinigami, in which Kallikrat was the victor.

"At any rate, the legend goes that one day the Hollow King heard tell of a shadow that was preying upon the edges of his kingdom. He and a handful of trusted vassals went to investigate; he was never seen again. According to the survivors, Kallikrat had been rendered powerless by the shadow and it had devoured him." He paused a moment before continuing, "That was the first anyone had heard of las sombras negras, and certainly not the last. All the stories seem to suggest the sombras are capable of destroying even the strongest of Hollowkind with hardly any effort. _That_ is the grain of truth that concerns me."

Shiro nodded. "I can see why. They're damn freaky." He frowned slightly, an unusual sight on his normally-manic face. "Rubbed all my instincts the wrong way. Like Tousen used ta, only worse."

"Hard to believe," Grimmjow muttered, remembering vividly how 'well' the Hollow had gotten along with the blind ex-captain the few times they'd been confined to the same five mile radius.

Shirosaki snickered. "Aa, mebbe not _that_ bad, but close enough." He pulled Zangetsu out of the ground and leveled the oversized blade at his opponent, the black cloth wrapping tightly around his forearm. "C'mon, chit-chat's over. Ready ta kick it up a notch?"

Grimmjow smirked despite the obvious dismissal and raised his own zanpakutou. "You ready to get your ass kicked?"

"Che. Keep tellin' yerself that." He glanced at Ulquiorra, only to find the former Cuarta had already begun to walk away from the training field.

"I have no desire to get caught in the crossfire that will undoubtedly ensure when you trash begin fighting," he offered by way of explanation, waving lazily over his shoulder to his captain and comrade.

Grimmjow scowled at his retreating back. "Bastard."

Shiro smirked. "Ignore 'im, neko-chan."

Grimmjow rounded on him. "…_What_ did you call me?"

Shiro grinned. "Ya 'eard me, _neko_-_chan_."

The Espada's eyebrow twitched. "_Kishire_, _Pantera_!"

Shirosaki's grinned widened. "_Bankai_!"

-0-

"As you can see, the creature – which we have dubbed specimen 296-A – bears a distinct physical resemblance to humans," Kurotsuchi said, indicating the image on the large projector screen behind him. How he had managed to drag the equipment up from the Twelfth's barracks to install in the soutaichou's office, Ichigo had no idea. He purposely directed his gaze elsewhere and Shiro grimaced. Urahara and Ukitake both wore similar expressions of discomfort. Without its cloak, the dementor's flesh was revealed to be grayish and slimy, like something dead and rotten that had decayed in water. The skin was taught over its bony frame, and the skeleton stood out in relief all the way from the top of its head (complete with empty eye sockets and gaping, toothless mouth) to the tips of its shriveled toes.

"However, several anatomical divergences put it in a distinctly different category," the scientist continued, barely restraining the look of glee that threatened to overwhelm his face. "296-A is genderless – it is assumed they reproduce asexually, if at all. Furthermore, 296-A has neither saketsu nor inga no kusari. Lack of Chain of Fate would be understandable if it were a purely spiritual being, but that does not explain the absence of saketsu, as that is present on Shinigami, Hollow, and human souls alike." He scowled irritably. "We have not yet reached a definitive conclusion as to why this is so. Our primary hypothesis is specimen 296-A is a product of Aizen's experimentation."

Urahara smiled from behind his fan. "A secondary hypothesis relates the reiatsu of 296-A to that collected from several subjects with abnormal or bound reiatsu. This was pursued following Kurosaki-taichou's own observations. At present this theory can be neither confirmed nor disproved without further evidence."

Kurotsuchi rolled his eyes and turned to Kisuke. "Please. Your 'secondary' hypothesis is complete idiocy – 296-A's reiatsu is far too damaged to make an accurate assumption of what its ideal expression is. A hypothesis that can be neither confirmed nor denied is worthless—"

Kisuke waved his fan dismissively. "Simply because we are unable to test it at the present time doesn't mean a theory is worthless, Mayuri-kun." Kurotsuchi glowered, though whether from the nickname or from Urahara's obvious dismissal of his argument was unclear. He grinned. "At any rate, it's best to keep every option available, ne?"

"Ridiculous. Reiatsu markers thirteen through twenty one were completely corrupted. The frequency pattern was so degraded—"

His retort was cut off by Ukitake, who coughed slightly to catch their attention. "Ah – pardon the interruption, but could we please return to the matter at hand?" Mayuri frowned, but fell silent. "Thank you. Kurotsuchi-taichou, forgive me for asking, but am I correct in my understanding that neither of you have any idea what the… er… 296-A is?"

Kurotsuchi looked highly affronted at Ukitake's words. "Precisely."

Ichigo scowled. "Wonderful," he muttered darkly.

Shiro seemed to echo his sentiments. "Ya been messin' with that thin' fer ten days an' ya ain' got _nothin'_ ta show fer it?" he growled. "What the 'ell 'ave ya been doin', 'avin' one o' Yuzu's tea parties?"

"Watch your tongue, _Hollow_," Kurotsuchi spat, throwing a hateful glare in the co-captain's direction, which was returned with equal venom. "Do not assume we have been idle. Simply because we do not have what _you_ want does not mean we have not acquired relevant information."

Urahara snapped his fan shut. "Anzu-kun, please understand. It's not that we haven't learned anything – quite the contrary, it's just that what we _have_ learned doesn't match with what we knew beforehand. We know plenty about the dementor's anatomy, physiology, lifecycle, and so on, but not how it's related to the more… conventional spirits we're familiar with. It's a bit like discovering a new species."

"…Che." Shiro huffed and crossed his arms irritably, but didn't comment further.

Ukitake nodded. "All right. Thank you for your time, Kurotsuchi-taichou, Urahara-san. You may go."

Kurotsuchi swept past without another word, muttering something about ongoing experiments that needed to be monitored, sending someone to retrieve the projector equipment later, and ungrateful Hollows that deserved to be strapped to exam tables and force-fed poisons (so he could study the effects, of course). That last comment had earned him a glare and low-powered Cero to the feet from Shiro.

Urahara, however, paused on his way out. "You be careful, you two," he said softly, so only the pair of them could hear. "I know I can't stop you from doing whatever insane stunt you're planning, but take care of yourselves. It's a whole new world that you're jumping into. Watch each other's backs while you're out there." He grinned at them from under the brim of his hat. "I didn't go through all the trouble of teaching you two idiots for you to go and get yourselves killed doing something stupider than usual."

Both Shinigami and Hollow stared at him, temporarily stunned. Ichigo was surprised that Urahara had expressed concern for their well-being – he had, after all, sent them off to both Soul Society _and_ Hueco Mundo with hardly smile and a wave and a 'try not to die.' He must have some inkling of the brewing war in the Wizarding world (a distinct possibility, as the man seemed to have an informant pretty much everywhere) or his gut intuition was telling him to be cautious – which was also bad, as Urahara's gut was rarely wrong. Either way, it spelled trouble in the near future. They would do well to take his advice.

Shiro, however, was momentarily floored at the elder man's admission that he considered the Hollow one of his students. Even though he and Ichigo were technically one in the same, Shiro had never felt as though the former juunibantai taichou had been a mentor to him; _Ichigo_ had been the one out there in the world, _Ichigo_ had been the one being taught, _Ichigo_ had been the one fighting in real battles, not the fragments of memory Anzu had had to train against deep within the confines of their shared universe. It was simply one of a great many things that were _Ichigo's_, since the Shinigami had been the one to claim the identity of 'Kurosaki Ichigo' after the original Ichigo's soul had fractured.

Normally he told himself that it didn't matter, that he was just fine and dandy the way he was, say-anything-about-it-again-and-I-will-stick-this-zanpakutou-up-where-the-sun-don't-shine, thank-you-very-much, but there'd been times – particularly where friends and family were concerned – that Shiro couldn't help but feel rather isolated and alone, separated from those he still cared about (on some level, anyway) by his species, especially in the first few months after he and Ichigo had reached their understanding. Things had improved over the past decade and a half, but the memory of those dark times was something he preferred not to dwell on for very long.

He was, therefore, rather surprised – and not a little touched – to hear that the old shopkeeper cared for _both of them_ enough to give them a warning.

Shirosaki recovered from his shock quickly and gave Urahara a lopsided grin. "Ya don' 'ave ta tell _me_ that, sandal-'at. King 'ere's the one ya gotta be worried 'bout."

Kisuke snorted as Ichigo punched his counterpart in the arm. "Oh, I'm well aware of that, Anzu-kun. I'm expecting you to keep Ichigo-kun alive, ne?"

"Other way around, more like," Ichigo muttered, shooting an annoyed look at the Hollow. "We'll be fine, Urahara-san."

Urahara nodded solemnly. "I wouldn't expect anything less from my star students." He bowed slightly to the soutaichou before vanishing with a swish of shunpo.

The two Fifth Division captains turned back to the captain-commander, Ichigo fighting back an amused smirk at the Hollow's thoughtful expression.

_Told you he liked you._

…_Shaddap._

Ukitake cleared his throat. "Ah – Kurosaki-taichou, Shirosaki-taichou, your turn. What do you have to report?"

Shiro grimaced, and Ichigo fidgeted uncomfortably. "…Unfortunately, not much more than Urahara-san presented," he said.

Ukitake raised an eyebrow. "So little?"

"Urahara's patch can only do so much," Ichigo said with a shrug, indicating the small device. It was one of the eccentric shopkeeper's newer inventions; he had no idea how it worked, but apparently it could be programmed to tap into existing knowledge of a subject and somehow 'amplify' it; in his case, the little he remembered of his English from back in high school. Urahara hadn't intended it to be a language supplement – it was actually supposed to help academy students with their studies – but he'd presented a set to Ichigo and his family before they left on vacation, saying something about 'preliminary field testing.' His took the form of a black wristband emblazoned with the characteristic skull. It worked well enough for spoken language, but written… not so much. "You'll forgive me if English isn't my first language."

The soutaichou nodded in understanding. "Ah, of course. Please, continue."

"Anyway, we were able to collect a large amount of information from books and personal testimony, but absolutely _nothing_ definitive about what dementors actually _are_." Ichigo scowled. "Their reiatsu produces an atmosphere of fear and despair – apparently they're capable of forcing their victims to relive bad experiences and nightmares. Prolonged exposure among mortals results in insanity in the vast majority of cases. Popular belief holds that dementors' favorite food is human souls – but since they aren't Hollows, I don't know how true that is," he added. "In all likelihood, it isn't. According to one source, instead of the soul, they consume a person's 'core' – their emotional center, maybe. The language was a little vague. We brought back all the texts we found, so someone else can take another look. Maybe they'll have better luck with that than we did."

"Accordin' ta Hollow-lore," Anzu continued, picking up where the Shinigami left off, "They're called 'sombras.' Nasty pieces o' work. Scare La Ciudad's folks shitless – even the rogues're careful. Don' pop up much, but when they do… bad shit 'appens. Lot o' Hollows gone missin' over the years, a few thousand at least – prob'ly more'n that, takin' inta account the ones not recorded by th' Elders. That's prob'ly what 'elps fuel the rumors. Been showin' up every couple decades since about the eleventh century, which matches with th' oldest records we found in the livin' world. Whatever th' 'ell they are, they set off all the 'fight er flight' instincts. There's something' _wrong_ with 'em – jus'…" he shrugged helplessly. "Jus' _wrong_."

The soutaichou nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, Ichigo-kun said something to that effect."

Shirosaki scowled. "Ya'd know the same thin' if ya damn Shinigami actually bothered ta listen ta what yer instincts're tryin' ta tell ya."

Ukitake held up his hands defensively. "I wasn't trying to undermine your opinion, Shirosaki-taichou." The Hollow sneered, but caught Ichigo's annoyed glare and crossed his arms irritably, waiting for the elder man to continue. The soutaichou shuffled the stack of papers on his desk. "I will, of course, look over your written report as well, and have someone make copies of those books. In the meantime…" He shuffled the papers on his desk. "Please return to your regular duties. The 'dementor' problem is part of Avalon's jurisdiction; we cannot involve ourselves."

Shiro frowned. "But – Ukitake-san—"

"I understand you're concerned. I am as well, but our hands are tied. We _can't_ get involved. There is a _reason_ that the jurisdictions exist, Anzu-kun, just like the nations in the human world. We are responsible for the souls within our region, and _only_ for them – if we interfere with the others, it's the same as invading another country. It's expressly forbidden in the precincts' charters. There have been two wars between the districts in the last ten thousand years; in both cases, the instigating power was _eliminated_ by the Ouzokutokumu. Not just defeated, _completely_ _and_ _utterly_ _destroyed_." He shook his head. "I don't know about either of you, but I have no desire to be annihilated."

Shirosaki fell silent. As much as he enjoyed violence and chaos – Hollows were, after all, creatures of destruction – he did not like to entertain the idea of being wiped off the face of the earth.

"Ukitake-san," Ichigo began after a moment, looking pensive, "Are there any circumstances under which it would be acceptable for the members of one jurisdiction to be active in another precinct?"

The soutaichou hesitated before nodding slowly. "It… _can_ happen. Very rarely, such as when a particularly dangerous Hollow crosses sector lines. The original jurisdiction gets precedence of course, but if for some reason they're unable to handle the Hollow, the other may interfere to solve the problem. It doesn't happen very often, but there have been a few cases over the years… Why do you ask?"

"Something's going on in England. I don't have the whole story, but it looks like a human… well, returned from the dead."

Ukitake's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

Ichigo shrugged. "There's a wizard, goes by the name of Voldemort. Some fourteen years ago, a curse rebounded off Potter – how's another mystery – and hit him. The curse he used causes instant death; my guess is it cuts the Chain of Fate. Anyway, if Dumbledore-san's lot is to be believed, the same man who by all rights should have died years ago is now walking again. I originally thought it might be a case of a Hollow obtaining a gigai, but Urahara-san doesn't think that's likely. Something about neural receptors…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "The explanation involved a lot of technical mumbo-jumbo that I didn't really understand. Point is, Voldemort can't be a full Hollow. Urahara thought he might be a demi-Hollow, but that still begs the question of how his soul managed to avoid completely Hollowfying in the past fourteen years. And if his soul didn't Hollowfy—"

"—He can't have been properly dead in the first place." Ukitake whistled lowly under his breath. "An interesting conundrum. Any ideas?"

"Some'ow the bastard managed ta avoid Avalon fer years," Shiro supplied. "Which doesn' make sense. Avalon woulda sent somebody 'round ta collect 'im."

"The question is how," the soutaichou muttered thoughtfully. "Do you have any idea what happened to him after his 'death?'"

Ichigo shook his head. "No, unfortunately. I didn't ask – I'm not sure they'd have told me anyway – and there wasn't time to research the subject on top of everything else."

Ukitake's brow furrowed. "…I see. Do you foresee this issue becoming a problem for the Soul Society?"

Ichigo hesitated, speaking slowly and deliberately as though weighing every word. "If it is possible for one soul to break the laws of the King by remaining on Earth once his Chain was destroyed, it's possible for others to do the same. It could potentially undo the balance of souls."

The soutaichou nodded solemnly, suppressing a slightly despairing smile. Trust Ichigo to find a loophole in the law – it seemed to be one of his specialties. He suspected it was Urahara's fault. "You may have found sufficient reason to infringe on Avalon's jurisdictional rights, but we won't be able to act until we have solid proof." He frowned slightly. "Do you have any way to contact this Dumbledore-san?"

"Yeah," Ichigo said, reaching into the pocket of his shihakushou and pulling out the heavy amulet. "Supposedly, this will bring me straight to him once I activate it. I doubt it works across dimensional barriers, though."

Ukitake took the amulet with a raised eyebrow. "He gave you something to take you directly to him, not just an address? Was he expecting you to return?"

"Um…" Ichigo fidgeted nervously. "Yeah, he was. He wanted us to do something for him – we owe him for letting us use his libraries for our research."

"Do you know what he wants?"

"No sir."

Ukitake stared at him blankly for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. "Of course. You haven't changed at all, have you?" He chuckled. "Always jumping in without a thought for the consequences…" he trailed off, smiling. "Very well, then. Do you have any business in the Seireitei before we leave?"

Ichigo shook his head. Ukitake stood, motioning for the younger captains to follow, and strode out into the hall. "Kiyone-chan, Sentarou-kun!"

With a speed rivaling that of Yoruichi's fastest shunpo, the pair appeared, stumbling over one another in their eagerness to help their captain. When Ukitake had moved up to the first division after the death of Yamamoto, they had stayed all of about a week in the Thirteenth before requesting to be transferred. Rukia had been only too happy to comply; she'd confessed privately that the insufferable duo had nearly driven her spare in the one week they'd been her 'assistants.' Ichigo wasn't sure whether to be amazed at their dedication or disturbed by their enthusiasm.

Probably the latter.

"Yes, soutaichou-sa—"

"Sentarou, you baka! I came first!" Kiyone shouted, pulling on the back of the other's shihakushou so he fell down in a heap. Sentarou grumbled unpleasantries under his breath as he picked himself up angrily.

Kiyone fell to the floor with a small yelp as Sentarou kicked her legs out from under her. "No, _I_ was—"

Ukitake coughed slightly, stopping the duo before their argument could degenerate even further. "Kurosaki-taichou, Shirosaki-taichou and I have some errands to run. I need you to look after the division while I'm gone, alright?"

They nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, soutaichou-sama. How long will you be out? Do you need anything for your journey? Spare clothes, medicine, picnic basket—"

Kiyone slapped Sentarou on the back of the head. "Baka Sentarou! Soutaichou-sama isn't going on a _date_!" She paused, looking back and forth between Ichigo and Shiro. The Hollow in particular seemed to be having a great deal of difficulty keeping a straight face. Ichigo kicked him. "Er… are you?"

Ukitake laughed. "No, Kiyone-chan, of course not. We just have some business in the human world to take care of. It shouldn't take longer than the rest of the afternoon, at most."

Sentarou nodded. "Should I call ahead and have Urahara-san prepare a gigai?"

Ukitake glanced at Ichigo, who shook his head. "It won't be necessary, Sentarou-kun. Just take care of the division while I'm gone, please. I should be back by nightfall."

The pair smiled brightly and ran off, each shouting about how they would do a better job of managing the ichibantai than the other.

Ichigo shook his head. "Kami. How the hell do you put up with them?"

Ukitake smiled. "The same way you put up with Pesche-san and Dondochakka-san, I imagine."

Shiro raised a sardonic eyebrow as the younger captains followed Ukitake out the doors and into the first district. "Ya threaten ta sic Grimmjow on 'em?"

Ukitake simply laughed.

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_han: single kanji meaning 'convey,' 'transport, 'delivery,' etc; ergo hanjigokuchou are Hell Butterflies than can carry objects_

_ohayou: good morning; shortened form of 'ohayou gozaimasu'_

_geta-boushi: Ichigo's nickname for Urahara (lit. 'geta' (a type of sandal/shoe) and 'hat')_

_neko: cat_

_Ouzokutokumu: the King's Guard (lit. 'King Subordinate Secret Service')_

_baka: stupid, idiot, etc._

_

* * *

_

Greetings to you all.

Here is chapter eight. I can only pray it has lived up to everyone's expectations.

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Amir-015, Jiyle, wind daffodil kyuuketsuki-san, KianaNic, Lazy Historian, LaRie, Obiki Doragon, mist shadow, Basia Orci, Destiny's Hand, willi890, ArrancarMaiden, DishyFishy-SnakeandCrane, Misting Rain, Kisa Teh Puppy, Anon, Sakura Lisel (x2), dragonXXforte, cdcase, Elspeth, Escapedslave99, Autumn Thief, Taio Kaiona, JessieKage, and Femsis for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks._

_I would apologize for the technical mumbo-jumbo in the middle, but I actually had fun writing it. Blame the scientist/mathematician in me, but coming up with overly-comlicated explanations for otherwise simple phenomena is quite entertaining... Whether it's understandable, however, is a different issue. I tried, at least._

_I will be out of town on Friday, and will likely not have access to a computer until 9-10-11 PM local time, so I will not be posting on that day. I will, however, be posting chapter nine on Thursday instead, so don't go complaining about a change in the update shedule._

_I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it shold burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love,  
Nesarna  
10/19/10_


	9. Judgment Day

**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes._**

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine._**

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Ninth

-0-

Albus Dumbledore yawned widely before flipping another page of the vast tome that sat on his desk. He glanced at the clock – it was nearly six in the morning. Harry's trial was due to be held in scant few hours – hardly enough time to prepare a suitable defense for the boy, and he half expected Cornelius to move the time and place of the hearing at the last moment, just so that the teen's hearing could be declared a mistrial and Harry Potter could be expelled without question or hope for further appeal. Albus hoped Arthur would have enough sense to leave Grimmauld Place early, just in case. He probably would; Arthur was a good person, regardless of his… _affection_ for all things Muggle. He shook his head. Harry would be fine – Amelia was a just and honorable woman.

He returned his attention back to the matter at hand, turning another page of _Old and Forgotten Secrets of the Afterlife_. It was the fifth such tome he had searched, and still he could find no information regarding 'Shinigami.' Kurosaki had used the term like it was commonplace, something readily understood by those around him – which may have been true in his country, but was hardly the case here in Britain. He'd even gone as far as to contact a few of his old acquaintances in the Department of Mysteries, asking them to cross-reference the term (as well as other bits of information Kurosaki had dropped) with their data from Project Tartaros, since that information had long since been declassified. Or should have been, at any rate; he'd received a very terse note in reply saying that the Department had no such records and to not bother them further, they had very serious work to be done, et cetera et cetera.

They might as well have waved a giant red flag bearing the phrase _TOP_ _SECRET_ in neon letters.

This only served to further confuse the aging headmaster, as Project Tartaros had been discontinued around the turn of the century (to his knowledge, anyway, and he was very well informed on these sorts of things), and the statute of limitations on secrecy only lasted fifty years. Perhaps it had been revived?

He was beginning to resign himself to the fact that the Shinigami – whatever they were – simply did not want to be found. He had very nearly exhausted all the possible sources of information he could access without _completely_ breaking the law, which left him in something of a conundrum. Part of his interest was practical: _if_ Kurosaki returned, he and his comrades _could_ _be_ a very, very effective addition to the Order of the Phoenix – _if_ they agreed, which was doubtful.

But part of it was also personal – more than a part of it, if he was honest with himself. If the afterlife was real, if it was true that people were reborn after their deaths, then maybe… His own family had been broken, just as surely as the Potter boy's. If only…

He was pulled out of his musings on 'what-ifs' by a sudden shift in the magic of the room, and two figures fell onto the floor. Dumbledore slammed shut _Old and Forgotten Secrets of the Afterlife_ and with a flick of his wrist it vanished back to its place on his bookshelf. Doing his best not to appear surprised that the Shinigami had actually returned, he stood to greet his guests, plastering on his most authoritative, grandfatherly expression, despite the fact he was clad only in his nightclothes and fluffy pink bunny slippers.

Dumbledore immediately recognized the first of them as Kurosaki, but the other was completely unfamiliar: premature white hair despite his apparent youth, and clad in an almost identical uniform as the teenager, with a red-handled sword thrust through his belt. "Ah, Mr. Kurosaki, I was expecting you. Who is your friend?"

Kurosaki scowled slightly. "This is Juushirou Ukitake. Ukitake-san, this is Dumbledore Albus, the man we were telling you about."

The white-haired man smiled brightly and shook the proffered hand. "Hajimemashite, Dumbledore-san. Ichigo-kun has told me some very interesting stories."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled from behind his half-moon glasses. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Ukitake. Am I to understand that you are Mr. Kurosaki's superior?"

Ukitake shook his head. "Iie, iie – I believe the term is 'primus inter pares?' Forgive me if I'm wrong; it's been quite some time since I studied Latin."

"Ah, I understand. Oh dear – where are my manners?" The headmaster flicked his wand and two plush chairs popped into existence, falling to the floor with a dull _whump_, and at the same time, a fully-loaded tea tray appeared on his desk. "Sit, sit – might I offer you a lemon drop? Tea, perhaps?"

Ichigo politely shook his head, leaning Zangetsu against a nearby bookshelf, but Ukitake smiled broadly as he sat down in his conjured chair. "Don't mind if I do," he said cheerfully, popping the yellow sweet into his mouth with apparent relish. "Oh, these are delicious! I wonder, do they sell these in Karakura, Ichigo-kun?"

The orangehead blinked, apparently not having anticipated the question. He shrugged. "Ano… probably."

"_Excellent_," Ukitake said happily. "Thank you, Dumbledore-san."

Dumbledore smiled faintly, pouring out tea for all of them and passing the cups around. "You're quite welcome." He cleared his throat slightly and continued, "Now then… I trust this is not a social call, Mr. Ukitake?"

Ukitake's expression turned serious. "I am afraid not, Dumbledore-san." He settled back in his chair, fixing the headmaster with a piercing stare. "If I understand correctly, Dumbledore-san, you are interested in… ah, _borrowing_ one of my captains for an indeterminate amount of time," he said after a moment. "If you would please explain to me exactly _why_ I should loan you one of my finest officers, it would be much appreciated."

The headmaster sighed heavily. "I… would ask the Mr. Kurosaki aid our group in the battle against Lord Voldemort."

Ukitake's eyes narrowed. "You do realize that it is strictly against the Law for a Shinigami to interfere in mortal affairs, correct?"

Dumbledore frowned. "I don't understand."

"I can't fight for you," Ichigo said shortly. "We're not allowed to kill humans, and my abilities aren't good for much other than mass destruction. If I fight, people will die. Or at _least_ end up seriously maimed," he added as an afterthought. "Either way, it's my existence on the line. Not happening."

"I see," Dumbledore murmured. "I must admit, I had hoped… Well, no matter. There are other ways we could use your assistance, Mr. Kurosaki, if you are willing."

Ichigo scowled, and Ukitake's expression was pensive. "What precisely do you have in mind?"

"Nothing dangerous, if everything goes as planned," Dumbledore admitted. "However, operating under the assumption that everything will not go according to plan – a safe bet with Voldemort involved, I'm afraid to say– there still shouldn't be anything too dangerous. To be honest…" he trailed off, leaning his elbows on the desk and staring critically at Ukitake through steepled fingers. "I had hoped to assign Mr. Kurosaki to Mr. Potter as a… bodyguard of sorts," he confessed. "Harry has a distinct penchant for attracting trouble, and with the political climate as it is, I worry he may find himself in more trouble than usual. I'm concerned for his safety."

Ichigo frowned. "Why? I mean," he elaborated upon seeing the headmaster's confused expression, "Why me? Potter's perfectly capable of looking after himself – and even if he weren't, wouldn't you be a better candidate to keep him safe? Or the Order of the Phoenix members, even."

Dumbledore sighed again. "…That is… somewhat of a problem. The Order members can't watch Harry around the clock – they all have their own families to look after; I can't ask them to abandon those, though I expect some of them would if I asked. And I doubt Harry would accept having a guard, anyway," he added, smiling sadly. "He doesn't hold with that sort of thing."

Ukitake raised an eyebrow. "And yet you're trying to place Ichigo-kun as a bodyguard for the boy."

Dumbledore nodded, looking mildly embarrassed. "Yes. I'd hoped that a guard his own age would be more… ah, discrete than a fully-trained wizard following the boy everywhere. What Harry needs is a friend, not an admirer."

"If you're that worried about his safety, why not just teach the boy to defend himself?" Ichigo demanded. "You're supposed to be the most powerful wizard in the world or something – why not teach him?"

Dumbledore seemed to wilt slightly. "I – I can't." He took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "Harry has something of a… unique connection to Voldemort. I fear that – should Voldemort become aware of said connection – he would exploit their link to spy on myself and the Order; an action which would be _most_ undesirable, given the current state of affairs." The aging headmaster cleared his throat slightly before continuing. "Will you take the assignment, Mr. Kurosaki?"

Ichigo scowled. There was no question he wanted Potter to be safe – the kid _was_ family, after all, and _that_ more than anything was what had convinced him to return – but he had also come to realize over the course of the War that protecting someone didn't always mean treating them like they were made of glass. Experience had pounded _that_ lesson into his head particularly hard. He'd done his best to make sure his sisters stayed safe, tried to make sure they were always close to him, so if trouble reared its ugly head he could be there to keep them safe – all the while causing Yuzu pain and Karin to grow resentful. Then when they _had_ been confronted with the ugliness of war, they were helpless. After returning from that hellhole in Hueco Mundo with two small bodies over his shoulders, he'd vowed to never allow them to come to harm again, even it meant training them himself.

The realization that he _couldn't_ always be there for them been a bitter pill to swallow, but family tensions had eased dramatically afterward.

"I can't say I agree with your methods, Dumbledore," he said at last, and Ukitake's eyes widened slightly at the lack of honorific, but the headmaster didn't seem to notice. "Potter isn't some kid that needs to be coddled like a baby. It's the real world out there, not a nursery."

Dumbledore shrank under the accusations. "No, it isn't," he agreed softly. "But Harry is still so young, he's been through so much already… He deserves to have his moments of peace, for once the burden is given it cannot be taken back. Is it so wrong to allow him that happiness?"

Ukitake frowned slightly. "Dumbledore-san, what's so special about Potter-san?"

The headmaster sighed heavily. "He has been marked by Destiny. He will bear a terrible burden in the years to come – if ignorance can keep that weight off his shoulders even for even a little while longer, then so be it."

Ichigo stared at him for a long moment before replying. "I owe you for giving me access to your libraries, so I'll guard Potter for you if that's what you want me to do. But—" he continued, cutting off Dumbledore's sigh of relief, "I'm telling you now – whatever you're keeping from him will only hurt all of you in the long run. Just saying."

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand. Thank you."

"Unfortunately, Ichigo-kun," Ukitake said quietly, "There is still the matter of Avalon that must be taken care of."

"Aa, I remember," he muttered. "If I investigate the anomaly I told you about, can you keep Ouzokutokumu from killing us all?"

The soutaichou nodded slowly. "…Yes, I believe that will work. We'll need definitive proof of the matter first, however."

Albus raised a bushy eyebrow curiously. "'Avalon?'"

Ichigo glanced at Ukitake, who shrugged slightly. "The local precinct of Soul Society," he said, turning back to Dumbledore. "Since I'm officially affiliated with the Seireitei, I can't legally be active in Britain, except under specific circumstances." He scowled slightly before fixing the aging headmaster with a piercing stare. "What happened to Voldemort after he 'died?'"

Dumbledore frowned. "No one's entirely sure," he admitted. "From what I've been able to piece together from various accounts, his… not ghost, certainly, but something to that effect, fled into the forests of Albania."

"Where is that?"

Another wand flick brought a large tome floating off the shelf, which flipped open to show a detailed man of Europe. "Right there," Dumbledore said, pointing to a small country on the coast of the Adriatic.

Ukitake's eyes narrowed and he leaned in closer, tracing invisible lines on the map.

"Ukitake-san?" Ichigo asked warily.

"Hm… yes. Yes, I see," he muttered. "He definitely crossed lines. Three, if I'm not mistaken; possibly four. It's nigh-well impossible to continuously track a Hollow when it crosses sector borders. Avalon probably would've lost him by the time he crossed the channel into Cockaigne – almost certainly by the time he reached Elysium. "

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "Why? I thought the European Federation was fairly cooperative."

"They are," Ukitake agreed. "But even the best tracking spells have a limited range, and it's almost impossible to pick up the trail without a fresh signal. If the Hollow keeps its head down when it crosses sector lines, it's very difficult to keep track of it. I doubt Elysium even noticed when he entered their territory. Very smart, this Voldemort fellow."

Ichigo grimaced. "Damn." He glanced back at Dumbledore. "Go on."

"Well, after he arrived in Albania it becomes uncertain," the headmaster continued. "My best guess is he simply… existed. He was able to possess small animals, and eventually a wizard by the name of Quirinus Quirrell. Through Quirrell, he attempted to obtain the Philosopher's stone, which would have restored him to a proper body. That attempt was thwarted by Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger. Afterwards he returned to Albania, until he was found by another one of his servants, Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew created a rudimentary body for him to inhabit, but he wasn't able to return to full strength until he completed a Dark ritual at the beginning of the summer."

"Potter was involved in that, wasn't he?" Ichigo murmured. Out loud, he asked, "Why didn't he die after the curse rebounded?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "That is one of the greatest mysteries. No one knows, not even me." He chuckled slightly. "Despite what most of the wizarding community seems to believe, I am neither omniscient nor omnipotent. I have my theories, but…" He shrugged. "They are, for the moment, only theories."

It was a minute before Ukitake spoke again. "I believe we have determined sufficient grounds to open an investigation," he said slowly, directing his gaze at the younger captain. "As such, I will authorize an extended period of stay in the British Isles." He frowned slightly. "But we must be very careful; we do not need another war to deal with. As such, you will be constrained to a gigai for the duration of your stay. Double limiters, the usual one and an additional set of sekkiseki beads – you'll be limited to about five percent your usual strength. Use of Bankai will be strictly prohibited, as will any other… ah, power-ups," he added.

Ichigo's brow creased thoughtfully. _Are you okay with this?_ he asked inwardly._ You'll have to stay hidden for a long time._

Shiro scowled from within their inner world. He had returned there once they left Soul Society (Dumbledore did not know of his existence, and both agreed it was better if it stayed that way) and it looked like he wouldn't be leaving for a while. He was silent for a long moment before he said, _…Aa. This is worth it._ He smirked. _Just let me 'ave control of our body every now an' then. It's goddamn _borin'_ in 'ere._

The Shinigami snorted in amusement. _Point taken._ He glanced at the senior captain. "We have an agreement, Ukitake-san."

Ukitake smiled faintly. "I'll get started on the paperwork now. Is there anything you need to finish in the Seireitei before you leave?" he asked, glancing at the orange-haired teen.

Ichigo frowned slightly before he shook his head. "Nothing that can't be organized remotely. I'll call in later with orders for the squad."

Ukitake nodded and stood. He bowed slightly to the headmaster before drawing his blade. In less than a second the glowing doors had appeared in midair and the soutaichou vanished.

The clock in the corner struck seven. Dumbledore gave a small start.

"Oh dear – it's that late already? Or I suppose I should say early…" He shook his head tiredly and the pot and cups disappeared with a swish of his wand. "Harry's trial will be soon – I must be off to the Ministry."

Ichigo shifted uncomfortably. "He'll be fine, yeah?"

The headmaster nodded tiredly. "I'm sure he will be; Madame Bones is a fine woman."

"Good. Should I return to Grimmauld Place?"

Dumbledore started to nod again, before he froze, a slight twinkle appearing in his blue eyes. "Ye – no, actually. I think I may have an idea…"

-0-

Harry fought down the urge to vomit as he gazed up at the assembled members of the Wizengamot. He did his best to look composed as Fudge glared down at him despite the fact that a cold sweat trickled from his brow – though he wasn't sure if that was caused by having just run down to Courtroom Ten from the second-highest floor of the Ministry of Magic, or by his churning stomach.

He hoped it was just from the exercise. He doubted very much that it would make a good impression on the judges if he puked all over their courtroom.

"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," Fudge began loudly, his voice echoing crisp and clear through the stone chamber. "For the purpose of investigating offenses committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Mr. Harry James Potter of Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minster of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley—"

"Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," interrupted a quiet voice. Harry's head swiveled around to see Dumbledore striding across the floor of the chamber wearing dark blue robes and a perfectly serene expression. Harry didn't know what to think as the elder man drew level with him; a part of him rejoiced at the sight of the silver-haired man, but another part – one that had been becoming increasingly vocal over the past months – glared resentfully at the aging headmaster.

"Ah – Dumbledore," Fudge flustered, "You – er – got our message that the time and – uh – place of the hearing had been changed, then?"

Dumbledore smiled brightly. "No, I'm afraid I must have missed it. However, due to a happy accident I arrived at the Ministry several hours early, so no harm done."

"Right," the Minister muttered. "Well, I suppose we'll need another chair. Weasley, could you—"

"Not to worry," the headmaster said politely, drawing his wand. The tip of it flicked and a squashy armchair appeared out of thin air next to Harry. The murmuring of the Wizengamot – which had begun the moment Dumbledore entered the chamber – grew even louder.

Fudge cleared his throat loudly, and the crowd calmed. "Yes. So – the charges." He pulled a single sheet of parchment out of the massive pile before him, took a deep breath, and began to read. "The charges against the accused are as follows: that he did knowingly, deliberately, and with full awareness of the consequences of his actions – having received a _previous_ warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge – cast the Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty-three minutes past nine. This constitutes an offense under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery of 1875 and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statue of Secrecy."

He set the parchment back down on the table and glared. "You are Harry James Potter of Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?"

Harry gulped. "Yes."

"You received an official warning from the Ministry of Magic three years ago for using illegal magic, correct?"

"Yes, but—"

"And yet you still conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?"

"Yes, but—"

"Knowing full well that you are not permitted to use magic outside of school while you are under the age of seventeen?"

"Yes, but—"

"Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles, fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?"

"_Yes_," Harry nearly shouted before Fudge could cut him off again. "But I only used it because of the—"

This time he was interrupted by the heavy-set witch wearing the monocle on Fudge's left.

"The Wizengamot recognizes Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Fudge announced as the woman leaned forward in her seat.

"You produced a fully fledged Patronus? A corporeal one?" she asked.

"Yes, but I only did it because – wait, what?"

"And your Patronus had a definite form? I mean to say," Madame Bones elaborated upon seeing Harry's confused expression, "It was more than just vapor or smoke?"

Harry nodded. "_Yes_," he repeated, starting to feel slightly desperate. "It's a stag, it's always a stag."

"'Always?'" Madame Bones repeated incredulously. "You've produced a Patronus before now?"

"_Yes_, I've been doing it for over a year. I only did it because—"

"And you are only fifteen?" she asked, the eyebrow holding the monocle in place rising. "Impressive. A true Patronus at that age… very, very impressive, Mr. Potter. Very impressive indeed."

A few of the witches and wizards around her nodded in agreement, but a number of others frowned. Fudge cleared his throat loudly. "It's not a question of how impressive the spell was," he said irritably. "In fact, the more impressive it was, the worse it is, considering it was cast _in plain view of a Muggle_!"

The ones who had been shaking their heads before now murmured in agreement. Harry scowled. "_I only did it because of the dementors_!" he said loudly before anyone could interrupt him again.

The silence that fell was deafening.

"Dementors?" echoed Madame Bones, her eyebrow raised so high Harry was surprised the monocle hadn't fallen out. "What do you mean, boy?"

"There were two dementors in that alleyway, and they went for me and my cousins," Harry said hastily. "That's why I conjured the Patronus, to chase them away."

"Dementors, in Little Whinging?" Madame Bones repeated, sounding shocked. "I don't understand."

"Don't you, Amelia?" Fudge drawled, sneering down at Harry before turning to face Madame Bones in his seat. "Let me explain it to you. I thought we might see something like this, you know. He's thought it over, and decided that dementors would make a very nice cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can't see dementors, you know, so it's all highly convenient for him, you see. Highly convenient. Isn't that right, boy?" he added, glaring in Harry's direction. "So it's just your word for what happened and no witnesses…"

The court erupted into suppressed mutterings once again. Harry felt something inside him snap. "_I'm_ _not_ _lying_!" he burst out. "There were two of them, one at each end of the alley, everything went dark and cold and Dudley ran for it and—"

"Enough, enough!" Fudge shouted. The muttering ceased almost at once. "I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure is a very well-rehearsed story, but—"

Dumbledore cleared his throat slightly, interrupting the Minister. "Pardon me, Cornelius, but there is, in fact, a witness to the presence of dementors in Little Whinging on that night," he said. "Other than Dudley Dursley, I mean."

Fudge deflated slightly. "We haven't got time for more nonsense, Dumbledore. I want this dealt with quickly."

The headmaster smiled benignly. "Perfectly understandable, Minister. I may be wrong, but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to summon witnesses for his or her case; isn't that right, Madame Bones?" he added, looking in her direction.

She nodded. "Yes indeed, that's perfectly true."

Fudge fumed. "Oh, very well. Where is this person?"

"I brought him with me," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "He's just outside the door. Shall I—?"

"No – Weasley, you go." Percy hopped off his seat and strode past the pair of them with hardly a glance. A moment later he returned, a teenager with equally-vivid hair in tow, looking very… normal in an ordinary Muggle suit and tie; a small part of Harry's brain (the part that was not busy preventing a panic attack) briefly wondered where he had stashed his sword. Ichigo smirked faintly at Harry as he entered, before directing his gaze at the seated members of the Wizengamot and bowing politely.

Fudge stared, slack-jawed for all of about a second before snapped his mouth shut and cleared his throat loudly. "Very well, then. Please state your full name for the court."

"My name is Ichigo Kurosaki, sir," he said clearly, looking only mildly interested in the proceedings.

"And what is your relation to the accused?"

"Harry Potter is my cousin."

Another round of muttering erupted from the stands. "We have no records of any other surviving members of the Potter line," said Madame Bones almost immediately. "We have always kept very careful records of all the Pureblood families."

Ichigo inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement. "We are related through our mothers – they were distant cousins themselves."

The Minister raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Lily Potter was a Muggleborn. You… _are_ a wizard, correct?"

He shrugged. "…Yes, after a fashion. Before we arrived this morning, Dumbledore-sensei and I were discussing the details of my transfer to Hogwarts next semester."

A ripple ran through the crowd. Fudge shuffled his papers noisily and glared at the orange-haired teenager, who appeared supremely unfazed. "Very well, then. What's your story?"

"I had been asked by Petunia Dursley to find Dudley Dursley, as he was apparently 'late for dinner,'" he began crisply. "I found him and Potter in an alleyway. Within moments of my arrival, the streetlights flickered. Then…" he shuddered slightly at the memory. "_They_ came. The air was cold, and I remembered… bad things. Horrible things." He paused a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. "I fought one off as best I could, but the other came from the opposite end of the alley and attacked Dursley while I was occupied with the first."

Madame Bones raised an eyebrow. "What did they look like, the things that attacked you?"

He frowned slightly at the memory. "They were very tall, wearing black robes. They were… hakujou. Fushizen… unnatural. Cold… _wrong_."

She nodded thoughtfully. "What happened next?"

He shrugged. "The one attacking Dursley did… something. It was leaning over him, doing something to his face, I couldn't clearly see what. At that point, Potter conjured the silver animal… it's called a Patronus, yes? The Patronus threw the creature off of me – I was closer to Potter at the time – before turning and charging at the other one. The beast fell and we helped Dursley to his feet before returning back to Number Four."

"That's it?" Fudge asked skeptically.

"Yes." He paused, as though remembering something. "No, actually. There _was_ one more thing. The – dementor, yes? – that attacked Dursley. The Patronus didn't reach him in time."

Muttering broke out amid the crowd as the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot turned to one another, whispering furiously. "Do you mean to say," Fudge barked, talking loudly in order to be heard over the low buzz that filled the room, "That Dudley Dursley has suffered the Dementor's Kiss?" He gave a short, strained laugh. "Ridiculous. None of the dementors have left Azkaban—"

"I did not say that Dursley was 'kissed,'" Ichigo replied. "The dementor did not get the chance to try. I killed it."

Instead of renewed muttering, the silence that fell was almost deafening in its intensity.

"'K-killed it?'" Madame Bones stuttered, her monocle nearly falling out in surprise.

"Hai. If you do not believe me, check your records; you will find there is one fewer dementor in your employ."

Fudge's face purpled. "This is preposterous! Dementors cannot be _killed_—"

"I would be more than happy to show you the technique used, should you wish to see," Ichigo said coolly. He glanced at Dumbledore. "Dumbledore-sensei, if you would be so kind as to conjure at target…?"

The headmaster drew his wand with a flourish and a second later, a stone statue rose out of the ground bearing only a vague resemblance to the nightmarish dementor.

He pointed his hand at the statue, palm glowing. "(_Ye Lord, mask of blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of man. Inferno and pandemonium, the sea barrier surges, march on to the south._)" As he finished the incantation, the light formed itself into a bloody red sphere. The air in the room became somehow denser, heavier, forcing the breath out of Harry's lungs. He recognized that light, even though he'd only seen it once before.

Cero.

"_Hadou no Sanjuuichi_:_ Sha_—"

"S-stop!" Fudge shouted, sounding panicked. Ichigo broke off mid-spell and glanced at him, the orb in his hand fading out of sight.

"You did not wish for a demonstration?" he asked innocently, though Harry could see a slight gleam in his eye that indicated he was fighting back a sadistic grin.

"I – you—" the Minister spluttered. He took a deep breath and visibly composed himself. "No, that won't be necessary. We will, of course, be checking with the aurors stationed at Azkaban to confirm your story. You may go."

He bowed once more to the Wizengamot before nodding slightly to Dumbledore and striding from the room.

-0-

"How's Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked the second Ichigo shut the door of Courtroom Ten.

Ichigo scowled, dropping the politely disinterested expression he'd adopted before the Wizengamot. "He's alright, Weasley-san." He paused, head tilted towards the closed door of the chamber as though listening. "Potter's reiatsu hasn't spiked yet. He's nervous, but he isn't panicking, so there's no verdict out."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I was so worried they'd convict him…"

The Shinigami shrugged, sitting down at the base of the cold wall as the Weasley patriarch resumed his pacing. _Well, our part's over. Now we just have to wait for their decision._

_Hn,_ Shiro grunted. He'd been noticeably subdued since leaving Dumbledore's office; Ichigo suspected he was still… 'depressed' wasn't the right term (Shiro would kill him if he even so much as thought the word), but certainly 'upset' about the decision to stay in England – not so much with the stay itself, but with its requirements. There were few things that bothered the Hollow more than being confined to within their collective mind. Shiro, despite his firm denial of it, was still a social creature; that was the primary reason he'd become so attached to Zangetsu, and why he'd been so near to insanity the first few times he and Ichigo had come face-to-face.

Solitude did weird things to people.

Things had improved since he and Ichigo had come to their understanding, but the thought of being permanently trapped inside the blue city was still terrifying to the Hollow.

Not that he would ever admit it. _Ever_.

…_You think he'll be alright?_ Ichigo asked after a moment.

'_E better be,_ the Hollow growled. _If not…_ he trailed off, and Ichigo got a sudden vision of Fudge's mutilated corpse.

_Shiro._

Shirosaki snorted distastefully. _Fine. Mebbe I won' cut 'is arms off…_ He grinned. _Just th' 'ands. That better?_

Ichigo rolled his eyes at his counterpart's antics. The door to the courtroom opened again and Dumbledore strode out. The older man paused as he passed. "You will receive your supply list shortly. In the meantime, I advise you to catch up on the required material; I'm sure Ms. Granger will be more than willing to assist you in that endeavor. We will speak later."

He vanished in the direction of the lifts.

Mr. Weasley glanced at him curiously. "What happened?"

Ichigo shrugged. "I told the court I would be attending Hogwarts in September." He wasn't too surprised at the Headmaster's rather frosty tone; that cover story had only been invented a just few short moments before he'd stepped into the courtroom. It was Shiro's suggestion, actually. While Ichigo had been busy going over his lines for the court, the Hollow had been reviewing their current situation. It had not escaped his notice that Potter and his friends would want an explanation as to _why_ he was still hanging around after his report had been completed. To both their mild irritation, Dumbledore had strictly prohibited Ichigo from telling Harry about their deal – which meant they'd have to lie about his reasons for staying.

Which translated into becoming Hogwarts' first official 'exchange student' in nearly three hundred years.

He knew Dumbledore would agree to the story once the old man'd had a chance to think it over, but he hadn't know about it before Ichigo had told the Wizengamot – though the Shinigami and Hollow both suspected the headmaster had something similar planned when he'd asked them to guard Harry.

Still, there was nothing quite like a pawn moving on its own to upset the chessboard.

The head of the Weasley family blinked in surprise, but didn't get an opportunity to inquire further as the door opened and Harry stepped out, looking relieved.

"Cleared," he said immediately, answering their unasked question. "Of all charges!"

Mr. Weasley beamed. "That's wonderful! Of course, they couldn't possibly have found you guilty, not with the evidence – but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't…" He trailed off as the courtroom door opened again and the members of the Wizengamot began filing out. He stared as they all filed past, one or two nodding in greeting, though most ignored him. "Merlin's beard. You were tried by the whole court?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess so."

Arthur's grip on Harry's shoulder tightened as Percy passed, but otherwise he showed no reaction. As the 'Junior Undersecretary to the Minister' disappeared down the hall, arms laden with scrolls, he continued, "We should get going. I'll drop you two off on the way to Benthal Green."

Harry smiled brightly, evidently in a much better mood. "So, what will you do about that toilet?"

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "'Toilet?'"

Mr. Weasley sighed. "A regurgitating toilet. Muggles pull the handle, and instead of everything going, er, _down_ – well, you can imagine. It's a simple enough anti-jinx, but it isn't so much repairing the damage as it is the attitude behind the vandalism—"

He broke off abruptly. There, at the top of the stairs, stood Cornelius Fudge, talking quietly to a taller man with silvery hair. The second man turner around at the sound of their footsteps, sneer already firmly in place.

"Well, well, well… if it isn't Patronus Potter," he drawled. "The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape. Quite astonishing, really, the way you keep wriggling out of tight holes. Almost… _snakelike_, in fact."

Harry gulped audibly, purposely looking anywhere but at the man's eyes. "Er – yeah, I'm… good at escaping."

The grey eyes flickered to Ichigo, who quirked an eyebrow at the piercing stare. "And you are…?"

"Where I'm from, it's polite to introduce yourself before asking someone their name," he said coolly. The man strongly reminded him of Byakuya – he had than same smug, holier-than-thou attitude that had pissed him off to no end back in the day. Ichigo had learned the hard way that the only way to deal with that sort of people was to quite literally _beat_ the message into them. Byakuya's demeanor had improved – _slightly_ – over the years; they'd often worked together over the course of the War, a direct result of Ichigo being so close to both the Kuchiki's sister/in-law and fukutaichou, and had had to learn to at least tolerate the other's personalities.

Byakuya at least had a _few_ redeeming qualities, but Ichigo had a sneaking suspicion that the man in front of him had none of those.

The man's pale eyebrows shot up at the apparent insolence. "I see… Lucius Malfoy," he said, offering a hand.

Ichigo did not take it. "Ichigo Kurosaki."

"Kurosaki…" Malfoy repeated softly, as though trying to place the name. "Ah, you must be Potter's witness. Tell me," he murmured, so only Ichigo could hear, "How much did Dumbledore pay you to deliver that load of drivel to the Wizengamot?"

Ichigo smirked faintly. "How much would you like to find out how much of the 'drivel' is true?" he asked, equally quietly, his eyes glinting gold in the dim light of the corridor. Lucius Malfoy paled. The Shinigami turned back to Harry and Mr. Weasley. "Let's go."

The three of them left without another word. "Mr. Weasley," Harry said quietly as the lift clattered into view, "What was he doing down here?"

Arthur scowled. "Trying to sneak into your trial, if you ask me. Trying to find out if you'd be expelled or not – I'll leave a note to Dumbledore, he ought to know Malfoy's been talking to Fudge again. Giving him gold, I expect; he's been making a lot of 'charitable donations' lately. He's very well connected, Lucius Malfoy."

"Che. Goddamn bastards," Ichigo growled, as the elevator doors shut. "I had enough of them just dealing with the stick-up-the-ass nobles in the Seireitei. Idiots."

Harry was silent for a moment. "But, Mr. Weasley… if the Minister's meeting regularly with Death Eaters, how do we know he hasn't been Imperiused?"

"We don't," Mr. Weasley replied grimly. "But Dumbledore's pretty sure Fudge is still acting of his own accord… which isn't a lot of comfort, frankly speaking. But we shouldn't discuss it here," he added as the lift doors opened to reveal the deserted Atrium. "Best wait 'til we get home…"

-0-

Ichigo scowled, fighting back a growing headache. They'd been at it almost nonstop for nearly ten minutes now. Yes, he was happy that Potter hadn't been expelled or whatever, but really… Enough was enough.

"_He got off, he got off, he got off_—"

It was almost more annoying than that portrait in the hall. He was having increasing difficulty ignoring Shiro's pleas to 'shut 'em the fuck up.' He kept reminding himself that they weren't in the Seireitei and they weren't Shinigami; he couldn't Cero them into oblivion and expect Unohana to patch them up afterward.

But _damn_ was it tempting.

"I _knew_ it," Ron was saying, punching the air excitedly. "You always get away with stuff!"

Hermione nodded, though she still looked a bit pale. "They were bound to clear you, there was no case against you, none at all…"

Harry grinned. "Everyone seems quite relieved, considering you all knew I'd get off," he said, jerking his head towards the Weasley twins and Ginny, who were still doing their pseudo-war dance, and at Mrs. Weasley, who was busy dabbing her eyes with her apron. Mr. Weasley called for the chanting group to calm down (which didn't work, as they couldn't hear him over the ruckus) before leaning into speak quietly to Sirius. Probably about that Malfoy person, Ichigo guessed.

Mrs. Weasley gave another loud sniff before she visibly composed herself and said loudly, "Well, that's enough – Fred, George, Ginny, stop that at once and come to the table. Sit down, Harry dear, have some lunch, you hardly ate anything for breakfast…"

The three of them joined Ichigo at the table, still looking exceedingly happy and relieved. Ron grinned as he spooned mashed potatoes onto everyone's plates. "'Course, once Dumbledore showed up, there was no way they were going to convict you. No way at all."

Harry smiled weakly. "Yeah, he really swung it for me," he said. He felt it would seem extremely ungrateful to add, 'But I wish he'd talked to me, though – or even _looked_ at me.' "Both of you," he continued, glancing at Ichigo. "So… thanks."

Ichigo shrugged. "No problem. Just doing what—"

Reiatsu flared, and Ichigo looked up in alarm. It was the same feeling he'd gotten back in the drawing room with the locket… His head whipped around as Harry abruptly clapped a hand to his forehead, looking pained. "Scar," he muttered, seeing Hermione's concerned expression. "Happens all the time, these days…"

This did nothing to ease her anxiety, but she nodded reluctantly. "You really should tell Professor Dumbledore your scar is hurting, you know."

Ichigo, however, had his eyes narrowed in thought. "(Your scar?)" he repeated, mostly to himself. "(But… that reiatsu was just like…)" His eyes widened as realization hit him.

The reiatsu had been the same as the locket's. Reiatsu could not be duplicated, _ever_ – it was a bit like a fingerprint. Even same-model modsouls had slight variances in their spiritual pressure, owing to minor chemical impurities in the raw spirit-matter they were created from. Reiatsu could be mimicked or hidden, that was true; very talented Shinigami – usually a high-ranking member of the Onmitsukidou, like Yoruichi or Soifon – could match theirs so closely to their target's that it was almost indistinguishable, but there was still a noticeable difference if one looked hard enough.

Hell, even his and Shiro's reiatsu was slightly different, and they were supposedly one in the same.

The likelihood that the similarity between the two was pure coincidence was astronomical.

'_Harry has something of a… unique connection to Voldemort._'

"Kuso."

Things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_primer inter pares: Latin phrase meaning 'first among equals' or 'first among peers'_

_sensei-: honorific used to address authority figures (teachers, doctors, politicians, etc.)_

_hakujou: inhuman_

_fushizen: unnatural_

_kuso: expletive; carries same general (and literal) meaning as 'shit.'_

_

* * *

_

_Greetings to you all._

_Here is chapter nine. I can only pray it has lived up to everyone's expectations. Chapter ten will probably be posted on Sunday._

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to home dawg fo shizzle, marc, FanFictionFan345, Lazy Historian, cdcase, One of the Colorless, dragonXXforte, LaRire, crimson-sage, Escapedslave99, wind daffodil kyuuketsuki-san, Basia Orci, yeah9fun, willi890, kuroyukihime2, Anon, writertron, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover (x2), Femisis, xXSweetestXAngelXNightmareXx, Taio Kaiona, Jiuriana-Chan, H-PockySticks, Eternal Love's Eclipse, Tashio, Autumn Thief, and JessieKage for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks._

_There isn't really anything to comment on in this chapter (on my end, at least), so I think that about wraps it up. Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love,  
Nesarna  
10/20/10_

_

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_

_PS. This story reached the 10,000-hit mark last chapter. Thank you to everyone who read! I hope you will continue to enjoy this story into the foreseeable future._

_Thanks again - Nesarna 10/20/10_


	10. Master and Apprentice

**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes._**

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine._**

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Tenth

-0-

Ichigo scowled for the umpteenth time that morning, glaring down at the text in front of him. Granger, upon learning that he would be attending Hogwarts with them come September, had practically burst with excitement, bombarding him with random facts and trivia about the school that he really didn't care to know. She made it her personal mission to get him fully integrated into the British wizarding community, and Ichigo promptly found himself deluged under four years' worth of notes and books. Potter and Weasley had both given him sympathetic looks when their friend had presented him a stack of books as high as he was tall.

He frowned slightly at the thought. The three of them were being very helpful, but he was forced to lie to them: Dumbledore had strictly prohibited him from telling Harry about their deal. He hadn't been happy when he heard that – subtlety was _not_the way he preferred to operate, but reluctantly agreed that it was probably for the best if the Potter boy believed him to be an ordinary transfer student; and anyway complete and utter annihilation outweighed unhappy teenagers by a fair margin. While he personally didn't really give a damn, the higher-ups did, and he was walking on eggshells as it was what with being active in foreign territory. Revealing the existence of Shinigami and the whole 'life after death' thing was practically _begging_ for the Royal Guard to rain fire and brimstone down on the lot of them.

So, as far as Potter and the others had been told, Ichigo had spent the last three years studying at Shinou Academy of Spiritual Arts in Japan. Shinou trained its students in all forms of combat, from swordplay to martial arts to a type of magic called kidou. Kidou was a far more specialized branch of magic than what was taught at Hogwarts; its spells focused almost exclusively on binding, shielding, and attack, without any of the 'cute gimmicks' (Shiro's words, not his) that characterized Western magic.

The story went that two years ago, the magical society of Japan had become embroiled in a civil war not quite unlike the one poised to unfold in England. Ichigo hadn't given them the details, but they knew enough to know he'd been rather heavily involved. His involvement had led to him taking up the post of a captain in their government's law enforcement department, but since he still didn't have all the qualifications necessary for the job, he still had to complete his education before joining full time. Ron and the twins had both ogled him and promptly congratulated him for being something called an 'auror' before even graduating.

He explained that Shinou offered its students the option of a year abroad as part of its 'International Studies' program. While it was more common for students to head to the mainland or the Americas, there was nothing in the rulebooks saying he couldn't choose to study elsewhere. When Harry asked why he'd picked Hogwarts, he'd simply given them a lopsided smirk and said he already had friends there, so really, why go anywhere else? That had promptly earned him a playful punch in the arm from Fred and a happy smile from Ginny.

He shook his head and returned to the text in front of him. Hermione – though fascinated to learn of the existence of a separate branch of magic she had never heard of – had been utterly horrified to discover that Ichigo knew absolutely _nothing_ about the magic practiced at Hogwarts. He'd been inundated with copious notes, textbooks, and volume upon volume on magical theory, supposedly so he could get caught up with the students in the year he would be entering.

He was starting to suspect, however, that Granger's definition of 'caught up' wasn't _quite_ limited to the necessary material.

'…_The ability to conjure objects is described by Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration:_

'_Q(s)=∫[7m^(Ts^3s)/(13s+lm(s))]ds_

'_Wherein Q(s) represents the conjuration spell function, T represents the transfiguration constant, and m is the magical constant. Gamp's Law is often paraphrased as describing the five things that it is impossible to conjure: life, love, information, food, and money. The terms 'food' and 'money' are misnomers; it is more accurate to describe the Law as prohibiting conjuration of life, love, information, energy (specifically nutritional sustenance, related to the conjuration to life by the Yen Hypothesis) and precious metals; solving the equation for the s-values of the above substances yields Q(s) values exceeding the upper limit of the C-t function as described by the Waffling Theory of Spellcasting._

_However, there have been known instances of wizards bypassing the Law of Elemental Transfiguration in the case of metals, as it is possible (though markedly difficult; see Flamel-Dumbledore Theorem of Chemical Conversion) to conjure or produce a raw metal such as gold or silver. A conclusive theory to explain this discrepancy between Gamp's Law and observed phenomena has yet to be developed._

'_For the full arithmantic proof of Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, see Appendix VII._

'_For a list of common s-values of objects and their derivations, see Appendix III…'_

Nope_._ _Definitely_ not limited to the necessary material.

"(I thought we'd finished with calculus when we left high school,)" he commented idly, turning the page to reveal a series of complicated-looking graphs.

"(Aa, we did,)" Shiro agreed, not looking up from Hermione's copy of the _Handbook of Common Jinxes, Hexes, and Curses and Their Counterspells_.

The Shinigami glanced sideways at the Hollow sprawled lazily on the corner bed. "(You know, Ukitake did tell us to keep a _low_ profile,)" he said pointedly.

The Hollow scoffed. "(Gets damn stuffy in there, 'specially when yer studyin' math.)" He shrugged. "(This place's too 'eavily warded fer Avalon ta notice li'l ol' me. 'Sides, ya really wanna go through alla them by yerself?)" he asked, gesturing to the tottering pile of books spread over the desktop.

"(Point,)" Ichigo conceded. He closed _Analytical Spell Theory_ shut with a snap and stood, suppressing a yawn. In the years since he'd left high school, he'd forgotten how incredibly _dull_ mathematics could be. "(I'm going to grab something to eat. You want anything?)"

Shiro grunted, which Ichigo took to mean 'yes.'

He was on his way back to the bedroom, stack of sandwiches in hand, when he heard a loud cry of 'Come off it!' from one of the unused bedrooms. Curiosity piqued, Ichigo poked his head in.

"…gets confused about whether you're you or your father, Harry," Hermione was saying as she scrubbed out the underside of a desk that had been haphazardly knocked on its side.

"You saying he's touched in the head?" Harry demanded, completely ignoring the rusted bed stand in front of him.

"Who's touched in the head?" Ichigo asked, leaning on a molding bedpost.

Harry's scowl darkened. "Hermione thinks Sirius' gone mental," Ron supplied hastily before the dark-haired teenager could go off on another rant.

Ichigo frowned. "Nani?" He though back to Black's behavior over the past few days; certainly, he'd been less talkative at mealtimes – and a bit surly whenever someone attempted to draw him into the conversation – but since when did occasional bouts of moodiness indicate insanity? "How do you figure?"

Hermione pursed her lips irritably. "Well – I never said Sirius was going _mad_, I just think he's very lonely, is all. But never mind that," she continued. "How's the studying going?"

He scratched the back of his head with his free hand awkwardly. "Eh… fine, I guess. Wasn't expecting to see the calculus, though."

Ron frowned. "What's call-cue-loose?"

"_Calculus_, Ron. Advanced mathematics," Hermione answered, before Ichigo could even open his mouth. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "But where did you—"

"That Gamp's Law stuff," he said dully. He grimaced. "Math was never my forte, but I still remember how to take a sum of series. Anyway, I was just taking a quick break." He gestured to the pile of sandwiches. "Hungry, you know."

As if on cue, Ron's stomach growled loudly. He flushed red in embarrassment. "Er… sorry."

The door opened and Mrs. Weasley poked her head in. She frowned disapprovingly. "Still not done cleaning yet?"

Ron scowled. "I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break! D'you know how much mold we've gotten rid of since we came here?"

"You were so keen to help the Order," she said lightly. "You can do your bit by making headquarters fit to live in." She turned to Ichigo, glancing at the sandwiches. "And if you're hungry, you could have simply asked me to make you something."

He shrugged. "It's no problem. I needed a break from the integrals, anyway."

She looked confused, but nodded anyway. "Yes, well, break's over. Back to work, you lot."

"Yes ma'am," the teenagers grumbled.

Ichigo smirked and left them to it. Shiro looked up as he entered, eyeing the food hungrily. Wordlessly, the Shinigami tossed him a sandwich from the top of the pile. He caught it easily and took a bite, frowning at the contents. "(Blech. Corned beef?)" he remarked sourly.

"(I ain't Yuzu. You want high-quality, go to her. Or better yet, make it yourself.)"

The Hollow grunted in reply and returned to _The Monster Book of Monsters_.

-0-

Ichigo was halfway through _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _when he felt it. He and Shiro exchanged one brief, panicked look before both swore loudly and Ichigo rocketed from the room, the Hollow vanishing in a flash of white. The Weasley siblings, Harry, and Hermione poked their heads out of the drawing room as he sped past, eyebrows raised. "What in Merlin…?"

The doorbell rang downstairs.

Ichigo jumped the remaining half dozen stairs just as Mrs. Weasley reached the door. "Matte, don't—!"

Too late. She opened the door, clearly expecting to see one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. She was rather surprised, therefore, when the door swung open to reveal an unfamiliar, middle-aged man dressed in green, a striped hat plopped atop his blonde hair and casting a shadow over his eyes.

"Ah, sumimasen, I'm looking for my darling apprentice, have you seen him lately?" He didn't give the woman a chance to answer, stepping past her into the dimly-lit hall. "I must say, your choice in décor leaves something to be desired – ah! Ichigo-kun!" he said brightly, spotting the orange-haired teenager by the stairsteps.

Ichigo's expression was perfectly flat as the elder man strode forward and clapped him heartily on the shoulder. "(Geta-boushi.)"

The man's grin widened. "(How have you been, Ichigo-kun? Everybody's been missing you. It's just not the same in Seireitei without you and Anzu-kun screaming bloody murder at Jaegerjacques-san at four in the morning—)"

Ichigo's glare darkened. "(What are you doing here, Urahara?)"

The hand drew back and produced a fan from nowhere, waving it lazily in front of his face. "(Yare yare, Ichigo-kun, you seem so unhappy to see me!)" The fan snapped shut. "(Juushirou-kun sent me,)" he said, his voice losing its cheerful tone. "(Latest updates, orders, supplies – I have your gigai and some spare clothes in the bag – and _someone_ has to apply that power limiter. Oh, and that thing you wanted me to look at,)" he added in a conspiratorial whisper. "(Can't go forgetting orders from the boss now, can we?)" The fan sprang open again. "(Besides, since when do I need an excuse to visit my favorite pupil?)" He smiled. "(Just consider it a favor for an old friend.)"

"(Che.)" After a moment Ichigo's annoyed scowl melted into a mildly-amused smirk. "(Tessai's gonna _kill _you when you get back.)" It was common knowledge that Tsukabishi Tessai had a great, nigh-unfathomable love for all this magic-related, whether it be new kidou spells or magician's card tricks. A chance to encounter magic – real, honest-to-kami magic… well, the ex-kidouchou was utterly incapable of actually _killing_someone (unless they managed to seriously piss him off), but this might have come close.

The man shuddered. "(Oh yes, believe me I know. I'll be taking copious notes.)"

Sirius coughed loudly from the top of the banister, where he, Harry, Hermione, the rest of the Weasleys, and Lupin were all watching the exchange bemusedly. "Uh, sorry for the interruption, but who the ruddy hell are you?"

"Good heavens, where are my manners – Kisuke Urahara, humble shopkeeper, brilliant inventor and genius extraordinaire," he said, giving them all an elaborate bow. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Ichigo scowled and smacked him on the back of the head. "For the love of – 'humble shopkeeper' my ass!"

Urahara massaged his battered skull. "Maa, Ichigo-kun, you're so cruel!"

The Shinigami rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Come on, let's get this over with." He grabbed the shopkeeper by the back of his coat and, completely ignoring the older man's plaintive wails for mercy, unceremoniously hauled him off down the hall and into one of the unused rooms, snapping the door shut behind them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged bewildered looks before scrambling off down the stairs, only to run almost smack dab into Mrs. Weasley. "Oh, there you are. Come quickly, I need you in the kitchens. Dinner will be ready soon, I need you to set the table."

"But—"

"No 'buts.' Off you go," she said imperiously. "I don't want you lot listening in. It's bad enough you try and eavesdrop on the Order – don't pretend you don't, I remember those Incorrigible Ear-whatsits! – and those two have some sort of _private_ business to take care of, they don't need you butting in. Kitchen. Now."

Ron gave his mother a pleading look, but she was undeterred.

"_Now_."

Harry shot one last curious glance at the closed door, before he, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys reluctantly followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen.

"What d'you reckon they're up to?" Ron muttered as he and Harry cleared the table of the assorted books and rolls of parchment that had managed to accumulate there over the course of the day.

"Dunno," Ginny replied, equally quietly.

"He called Ichigo his apprentice, didn't he?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"Yeah, reckon he did—"

"—But I've a hard time believing Mr. Frowns-a-lot learned anything from that man," George finished.

Fred nodded in agreement. "True that. He's far too cheerful."

Harry, however, was thoughtful. The man – Urahara – had brought up a name that Harry, quite frankly, hoped to forget. It had been quick – quick enough to very nearly miss it entirely, but it had definitely been there. A vision of gold-on-black flashed before his eyes, and he shuddered. Anzu Shirosaki, Ichigo's disturbing white double. Harry had only seen him once, and that was more than enough. Harry didn't believe in auras – that was Trelawney's department, and everyone knew divination was bollocks – but even he had noticed the unsettling air of blood and death that surrounded Shirosaki. The bloodlust hadn't been directed _at him _per se, but he had a sneaking suspicion that if it had been… well, it would've been on the same level as Voldemort's.

He hadn't even told Ron and Hermione about that particular encounter. It was just… too _weird_.

Harry was pulled out of his musings when the kitchen door slammed open to admit the orange-haired Shinigami, now wearing a tight-fitting shirt and jeans instead of the heavy black robe; the sword had disappeared again. Urahara followed close behind, looking around at the room with interest.

"(…damn house-elf,)" Ichigo was saying, striding to a dimly-lit corner of the pantry near the boiler. "(He keeps stealing stuff whenever someone turns their back… here we are.)" He opened a small cupboard door and rummaged about for a moment before withdrawing a heavy golden locket. He brushed several dust bunnies out of his hair and passed the locket to Urahara, who took it as thought it were made of glass. "(This is it.)"

Urahara hummed thoughtfully, turning the locket over in his hands. "(Yare yare… I see what you were saying. Curious indeed…)"

"(Can you unseal it?)"

After a moment, the old shopkeeper nodded and tucked the locket into the inner pocket of his coat. "(Hmm. I think so… yes, I'm sure I can. The necessary tools are back at the shouten, so I'll have to fetch them, but otherwise…)"

Ichigo raised an eyebrow skeptically. "(You'll be setting up here?)"

"(Of course!)" he exclaimed in mock surprise. "(This thing is far too volatile to examine back at the shop, it would completely throw my experiments out of whack.)" Urahara grinned faintly beneath the brim of his hat. "(They _are _rather sensitive, you know, and I would rather not have to start again. Mayuri-kun does _so_ hate it when I… er, _borrow_ his equipment – never mind that most of them are _my_ inventions anyway,)" he added under his breath.

The clatter of dishware brought their attention back to the far side of the room, where Mrs. Weasley had taken a large, juicy chicken from the oven and with a flick of her wand, sent it floating across the kitchen and onto the table.

She glanced at the pair of them as she set down a flagon of pumpkin juice next to the chicken. "Will you be staying for dinner, Mr. Urahara?"

The fan reappeared. "Oh no madame, I couldn't possibly, I wouldn't want to impose—"

Mrs. Weasley flushed slightly at being called 'madame,' but otherwise brushed aside his apparent 'humility.' "It's no trouble at all, Mr. Urahara. No trouble at all."

The fan paused in its waving for a moment, as though its owner was thinking. Then it snapped shut. "Well, if you insist…" And with that, Urahara plopped himself down on the bench between the twins and Sirius. "Kisuke Urahara," he said, shaking hands with both twins at once. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of a proper introduction. Fred and George Weasley, right? And you must be Sirius Black."

Sirius blinked for a moment before taking the proffered hand. "Ah, yes…"

Ichigo rolled his eyes as he sat down across from the old shopkeeper. "Drop the act, geta-boushi," he muttered, spooning potatoes onto his plate.

Urahara grinned from under the brim of his hat. "Maa, am I _embarrassing _you, Ichigo-kun—?" Something red and sizzling flashed past his ear and exploded on the far wall, knocking the hat off his head and sending dust and dirt floating down from the ceiling. "—Shutting up."

"Good idea."

Urahara gave him a mock salute. "Hai, Kurosaki-taichou!"

The glare Ichigo gave him could have melted ice.

Lupin raised an eyebrow as Sirius passed him the bowl of potatoes. "What does that mean, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Hm? Oh, you mean 'taichou?'" Urahara asked, glancing at Ichigo, who shrugged and nodded slightly. "It means 'captain.'"

"Yeh', 'e to' 's 'bou' 'at," Ron said through a mouth full of brussel sprouts. Ginny elbowed him in the ribs and he swallowed with visible effort. "He told us about that. He's an auror."

Ichigo tensed imperceptibly. Urahara didn't know what an 'auror' was (or at least, he didn't think he did, but one could never be sure with Urahara) and the man's reaction now could make or break his cover story. Alone it was just a story, but if Urahara corroborated… it suddenly became iron clad.

As it turned out, he needn't have worried. Urahara simply grinned and patted Ichigo on the head affectionately (which immediately caused the teenager to scowl darkly). "Yep, that's my Ichigo-kun," he sniffed dramatically. "He's come so far from that bumbling gaki who thought he could take out a Gillian by chopping off its feet—"

"Oi—!"

"—And let's not forget that he even _agreed_ to that stupid contest in the first place—"

"That was Ishida's fault and you know it—"

"—Or when he tried to take on both Kuchiki-taichou _and _Abarai-kun without even knowing shikai—"

"Wasn't _my_ fault nobody told me about that—"

"—Which led to that _suicidal_ invasion of Seireitei—"

"_You_ _orchestrated that entire fiasco_!"

"—Not to mention that even _more _suicidal raid on Las Noches, if that's even possible—"

"IT WAS FOR A GOOD REASON!"

"—And let's not forget letting the Bount invade and _almost _activate the Joukaishou, which of course would have obliterated us all—"

"_WHAT PART OF 'THAT WAS ISHIDA'S FAULT AND YOU KNOW IT' DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND_?"

"—Yep, that's my Ichi-kun. I have taught him well."

Sirius, Harry, Ron and the twins had all fallen into gales of laughter by the time Urahara finished. Even Mrs. Weasley looked slightly amused behind her disapproving frown.

"Well," said she loudly in order to be heard over the continuing guffaws and glancing pointedly at the twins, "It just goes to show – even the most reckless of teenagers can go on to be mature, productive members of society."

Urahara blinked innocently. "Oh, you misunderstand me, madame. Ichigo-kun's hardly matured – nowadays he just pulls those stunts on _purpose_, rather than by _accident_."

The table dissolved into another round of laughter.

-0-

Things fell into a routine after that. The Shinigami seemed to have claimed the third floor as 'theirs' – Urahara had set up his temporary laboratory in the library, and they'd cleared out the old ballroom of several dust bunnies and one very unhappy ghoul and had Lupin put an number of reinforcement charms on the walls and floor. It soon became not uncommon for the other inhabitants of Grimmauld Place to wake up to the sound of clashing steel in the early hours of the morning.

Afternoons and evenings were occupied almost exclusively with studying. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had put a hold on their research – with the library almost constantly occupied by Urahara, there was never a chance for them to sneak in and look around, though Hermione had taken to rereading through all her texts (again) in the vain hope that she had missed something the first (few dozen) time(s). Harry and Ron, meanwhile, seemed to have realized that there were only a few days of break left, and were almost desperate to finish their summer homework.

Ichigo was rapidly catching up with the required material, though he couldn't perform the spells yet as he didn't have a 'magical twig' (again, Shiro's words, not his). Ron complained loudly about the amount of work they'd been assigned until it got so bad that Ichigo told him to be quiet or he would personally shove Hermione's copy of _Numerology and Grammatica_ down his throat.

Ron promptly shut up after that.

Sirius, meanwhile, seemed to become more withdrawn. He had established something of a rapport with Urahara, and spent a great deal of time with the old shopkeeper in the converted library-cum-laboratory. It was rare for either of them to encounter someone who'd experienced the similar loss of _everything _like they had. Urahara had fled his sentence, been hunted like an animal – Sirius had been shut away in hell for twelve years.

Convict bonding, Ichigo called it. None of the others seemed to disagree.

On the last day of the holidays he, Harry, and Ron were sitting in the second floor bedroom, textbooks and papers scattered all over the floor. Ron scowled heavily and leafed rapidly through an open copy of _A History of Magic_.

"Why the bloody hell do we need to know about the goblin rebellion of 1612?" he asked rhetorically. "I mean, it's not really like it's all that important nowadays, is it?"

Harry nodded distractedly in agreement, not looking up from his essay on the magical properties of fluxweed.

"Look at it this way," Ichigo said, glancing briefly at Ron before returning to the scroll on levitation charms he was studying, "It can't hurt to know. 'Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it,' or something like that."

Ron frowned. "Stuff like that doesn't apply to the _real_ world, though, does it? I mean…"

He trailed off as Hermione entered, carrying another stack of books. She set them down on the desk irritably. "I don't _believe_ it – that's the _twelfth_ time I've asked—!" She crossed her arms in frustration and sat down on the edge of Ron's bed, fuming. "It's just a simple question, where's the harm in it? I don't understand—"

Ichigo sighed heavily. Hermione had managed to resist temptation for all of about five minutes before she'd cracked and asked Urahara for a demonstration of kidou – a request he'd immediately refused. The first few times he'd patiently explained that the spells he knew were almost exclusively battle-kidou – hadou – and were therefore far too dangerous to use in front of civilians, never mind indoors. This did not seem to pacify the bushy-haired witch in the slightest.

After the fifth time, Urahara finally 'consented' and placed a kyoumon over the library entrance. Needless to say, Hermione was _not_ pleased.

"—I'd really thought since it was the last day of the holidays, he might be more willing, but—"

"Granger," Ichigo said loudly in order to be heard over the girl's continued ranting, "We've been over this. Kidou is way too hazardous to use unless it's a life-or-death situation—"

"I understand _that_," Hermione argued. "I wasn't asking to see something advanced, just a basic—"

"The first Bakudou, _Sai_, can shred the target's soul if the caster isn't careful," Ichigo said flatly. "It's the first spell Academy students learn, and they only get more difficult and dangerous after that. Do you really think even a _simple_ demonstration would be safe?" He shook his head and returned to the scroll on charms. "Get over it. Some things just aren't worth it."

Hermione spluttered, doing a fine impression of a goldfish as she struggled to find an adequate response. Harry and Ron both snickered at her expression. Her jaw snapped shut and she marched from the room with a huff.

She passed Ginny in the doorway, who watched her go with a raised eyebrow. "Pretty upset, isn't she," she commented idly. "Wonder what… well, never mind. Booklists finally arrived," she said, tossing several envelopes in their general direction. Ichigo caught his deftly, taking in the green calligraphy on the front:

'_Mr. I. Kurosaki, The Second-Floor Bedroom, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London._'

"Mum says she'll be heading off to Diagon Alley in a bit. You'll need to go with her to pick up your wand and things," Ginny told him. "Anyway, I should probably get going, I'm supposed to be doing the ironing. See you." She shut the door softly behind her.

Ichigo flipped open the envelope, and two sheets of thick parchment fluttered out. The first bore an official looking header and read,

'_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

'_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer)_

'_Dear Mr. Kurosaki—_

'_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and materials._

'_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

'_Yours sincerely,_

'_Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress._'

"Only two new ones this year," Harry said thoughtfully, going over his own letter. "_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade V_ by Miranda Goshawk and _Defensive Magical Theory _by Wilbert Slinkhard."

_CRACK_!

Fred and George Apparated right next to Ichigo. He swore and powered down the Bala cupped in his hand once he realized it was them. "Seriously, knock it off you two. One of these days I'm really going to blow your heads off. I mean it."

George grinned widely, evidently not deterred in the least. "Oh, lighten up. Harry and Ronniekins here don't seem too bothered."

"Maybe," Ichigo muttered, "But they also don't have hair-trigger reflexes _that will get you killed_."

Fred ignored him. "We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book," he said conversationally, turning back to Harry and Ron. "'Cause it means—"

"—Dumbledore's found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—"

"—And about time, too," Fred finished.

"How d'you mean?" Harry wondered.

"Well, considering what's happened to the last four of them—"

"—Dumbledore's been having a lot of trouble finding anyone willing to take the job this year—"

"—We heard Mum and Dad talking about it on the Extendable Ears a couple of weeks ago."

"What happened to them all?" Ichigo asked.

"Well, let's see," George drawled, counting off on his fingers. "Quirrel: dead—"

"—Lockhart: memory removed—"

"—Lupin: sacked—"

"—And last but certainly not least, Moody: locked in a trunk for nine months. They say the Defense Against the Dark Arts job's cursed, see. Nobody's lasted longer than a year for a while now."

A thoughtful look passed over the Shinigami's face. "Sounds oddly familiar…" At Harry's raised eyebrow, he continued, "Well, people say the same thing about my job in the Gotei – that's our law enforcement department. We've gone through about twice as many captains as the other squads: three in the past hundred years, not counting me."

Fred raised an eyebrow skeptically. "…That doesn't sound like a very high turnover rate, does it George?"

"Indeed it doesn't, Fred," George agreed.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "It's a _lifetime_ _appointment_, that's why. It's not a job where you can just up and quit; you either die in battle or they haul you off to prison when you finally start going senile. That or you go into exile, which isn't exactly a fun option either," he added under his breath.

"Then how come you took the post?" Harry asked, sounding confused.

He shrugged. "Didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Anyway—" he broke off abruptly, catching sight of Ron, who was frozen, openmouthed, staring at his open Hogwarts letter. "—Weasley? What's wrong?"

Fred peered over Ron's shoulder, and his own jaw dropped in surprise. "Prefect?" he spluttered, staring incredulously at the letter. "_Prefect_?"

George leapt forward, seized the envelope and flipped it upside down. Something gold and red fell out and clattered to the floor. He bent down and scooped it up, holding it at arm's length as though it were diseased.

"No way. _No_ _bloody_ _way_."

"Nobody in their right _mind _would make ikkle _Ronniekins_ a prefect," Fred breathed, eyeing the repulsive badge.

As one the twins' heads swiveled toward Harry. "We thought _you_ were a cert!" George said accusingly.

"We though Dumbledore was _bound_ to pick you—"

"—What with winning the Triwizard, and everything—"

"—But I suppose all the mad stuff must have counted against him, or something," Fred muttered to his twin, who nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, that must be it. Harry's caused too much trouble," George said slowly. "Well, glad to know at least one of you's got their priorities right. Prefect… ickle Ronnie the _prefect_…"

Fred grimaced. "Oh, Mum's going to be revolting…"

He tossed the badge back at Ron, who stared at it for one long moment before holding it out to Harry and Ichigo, as though asking for confirmation that it was genuine. Ichigo watched, bemused as Harry inspected it over. A large 'P' was superimposed over a red and gold picture of a roaring lion; he supposed the lion must be the house mascot. He'd heard about the four houses from Harry, Ron, and Hermione – mostly Hermione – and personally thought the whole thing a load of bullocks. Not that he would ever tell them, but the whole house system seemed… rather judgmental to him.

Like the people back in Seireitei who just _knew _Ichigo was no good because _Aizen_, _Hirako_ and _Suzunami _had all been his predecessors and had all been involved in so-called 'illicit activity' (actually, only Sousuke and Seigen were guilty of that; Shinji just had a really, _really_ bad case of 'wrong place wrong time'). Or the groups that spread conspiracy theories about him and his squad just because he _happened_ to share his soul with a Hollow and was therefore not of the opinion that all Hollows were mindless monsters. Like he had any control over _that_– but still, the reputation the gobantai had for spawning traitors and defectors was hard to shake.

His thoughts were interrupted when Hermione burst into the room clutching another envelope. She spotted the badge in Harry's hand and immediately let out a loud shriek. "_I knew it_! Me too, Harry, me too!"

In less than a heartbeat Harry had shoved the badge back at Ron. "No – no, it's Ron, not me—"

She paused, midway through her rant, and stared incredulously between Ron and Harry. "It – _what_?"

"Ron's prefect, not me," Harry repeated.

"_What_? But – are you sure—?"

Ron glared daggers at the girl, who for once had the wisdom to shut her jaw with a snap. "It's _my_ name on the letter," he said defiantly.

Hermione blushed crimson to match the badge poking out from the folds of her own letter. "I… Well… Wow! Well done, Ron! That's really—"

"—_Unexpected_," Fred finished for her, nodding sagely.

She flushed an even darker shade of scarlet. "No – no, nothing like that… I mean, Ron's done loads of – he's really—"

The door behind her opened again and Mrs. Weasley backed in, carrying a pile of freshly-laundered clothes.

"Ginny gave you all your booklists, then?" she asked, glancing about at all the open envelopes. "Good. If you'll give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley and get your books while you're packing. You'll be coming with me, Ichigo dear, since we have to get you fitted for robes and wand and everything… and Ron, I'll have to get your more pajamas, these are at _least_ six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing. What color would you like?"

"Get him red and gold, to match his new badge," George said, sounding disgusted.

"Match his what?" she asked absently, too busy matching socks to pay proper attention.

"His _badge_," said Fred quickly. "His lovely shiny new _prefect's_ badge."

It took a moment for this to sink in, but the moment it did, Mrs. Weasley let out a great shriek to rival Hermione's.

"_I don't believe it_! Oh, I don't believe it! Oh Ron, how _wonderful_! A prefect, that's everyone in the family—" she pointedly ignored the violent wretching sounds coming from the vicinity of Fred and George "—Wait until your father hears Ron, oh, I'm so proud of you! What wonderful news, you could end up being Head Boy just like Bill and Percy. Oh, what a wonderful thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I'm just thrilled, oh Ronnie—"

Ron turned a vivid shade of scarlet to match his hair. "Mum… don't… c'mon, get a grip…"

She drew back and held her youngest son at arm's length, beaming. "Well, what'll it be?"

"I… what?" Ron asked, staring at her openmouthed.

"You've got to have a reward for this," she said happily. "So, what'll it be? How about a nice new set of dress robes? Or a new cauldron, Charlie's old one's rusting out. Or maybe a new rat, you always did like Scabbers—"

"Mum," Ron began hopefully, "Can I have a new broom?"

Her face fell slightly. Broomsticks were expensive.

"Not a _new _new one," Ron continued hastily, seeing his mother's expression. "Just… just a new one, for a change. There's this new Cleansweep out, that'd be great…"

After a moment, Mrs. Weasley smiled and nodded. "Of course you can. Well," she said, abandoning the socks and straightening her apron, "I'd better be going if I have a broom to buy as well… Come on, Ichigo dear, we've got lots of shopping to do. We'll see you all later… and don't forget to pack your trunks, we've got to leave early tomorrow!"

She swept from the room, still muttering about prefects to herself.

Ichigo sighed, closed the scroll on levitation charms with a snap, and got up off the bed to follow. He paused on the way out at turned to the still numb Ron.

"Ano… look," he began, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "I don't know much about this 'prefect' stuff, but it sounds important, so… congratulations, Weasley."

He left without another word, leaving a highly-flustered Ron in his wake.

Mrs. Weasley met him downstairs, clutching a large, battered leather handbag. She motioned him to follow her over to the kitchen fireplace and picked up a flowerpot sitting on the mantelpiece. "You go first, dear."

He stared. "Ano… nani?"

She frowned. "Oh, have you never taken the floo before? It's quite simple really – just throw the powder into the flames, step in, and say the name of wherever you want to go. Here, I'll go first." She took a pinch of the glittering powder and tossed it into the fireplace. Green fire immediately erupted into existence, casting a flickering, ominous light over the room. Mrs. Weasley stepped into the flames and said, very clearly, "_Diagon Alley_."

She disappeared in a roar of green fire.

Ichigo blinked at the spot she had been several times, glancing between the empty hearth and the flowerpot. He scowled heavily.

"Well, worst come to worst they can send Urahara to find me," he muttered darkly. With a defeated sigh, he threw some of the powder into the fireplace and stepped in. He was mildly surprised when the fire didn't even burn the foot of his jeans. He took a deep, shuddering breath and said, as clearly as he could, "_Diagon Alley_."

The world vanished in a rush of smoke and flame.

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_matte: imperative of the verb 'matsu,' to wait_

_sumimasen: sorry, excuse me, pardon me, etc._

_shouten: a shop_

* * *

Greetings to you all.

Here is chapter 10 (hard to believe we're here already). I can only hope it has lived up to everyone's expectations. The next chapter will be posted on Tuesday, if everything goes according to plan.

A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to KianaNic, Basia Orci, JNottle, Jiyle, Obiki Doragon, willi890, Escapedslave99, yeah9fun, marc, Kisa Teh Puppy, wind daffodil kyuuketsuki-san, dragonXXforte, LaRire, animelover1993, SunnyMoon, Amir-015, mist shadow, Taio Kaiona, Lady Drama, JessieKage, Zaliya Lily, mai, Furionknight, SilverFlameoftheWindScar, and Shahar Mystral for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks.

Since this is the tenth chapter, it seems like a good place to answer some of the FAQs that have been popping up in numerous reviews (this is because I am a horrible, horrible person and have yet to manage to preoperly reply to them like I want to). If it is not posted when you read this, I will be adding it at the end of this page sometime later today, so check back later.

Unfortunately, I have some bad news. As this story draws closer to the 100K word mark, I will be changing the update pace to a considerably lower level. As stated previously in the Author's Note from chapter three, I would like to maintain a buffer zone between what I've put on the site and what I have written/edited on my computer. Part of this is simply a security measure, but it also allows me to edit/insert/change the most recent chapters without having to re-upload/re-edit/re-everything everything (which is a pain in the ass, if you've never tried it). Four completed chapters is smaller than I had planned, but it will do.

_The net result is that the next chapter - NOT THIS ONE - will be the last of the frequent updates. I really am sorry (I know what it's like to go for months on end and not see an update for a story), but I'm not superhuman and I can't keep up with this pace once the pre-written chapters run out, even if I didn't have to do everything else that's expected of me (i.e., attending class, studying, eating, sleeping, etc.)._

Also, because of the smaller number of buffer chapters, I will NOT be posting one every two months if I don't finish a new chapter in that period (again, see AN in chapter three). Again, I apologize for this, but... well. C'est la vie.

I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know.

_Much love,  
Nesarna  
10/24/10_

* * *

_PS. This story hit the 100-favorite mark in the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who favorited this story, and I hope you will continue to enjoy it into the foreseeable future._

_Much love - Nesarna (10/24/10)_

* * *

_Frequently Asked Questions (First Installment):_  
_-Please note that the first two of these are reiterations of the AN in chapter two, so feel free to skip them.-_

_Q: When does this story take place within the timeline(s)?_  
_A: This is set in HP-5 and 15 years after the end of the Winter War. Given that I started writing this in June of 2009, some of the most recent Bleach-canon (everything post-and-including the 'Deicide' arc) is ignored._

_EDIT (11/22/10): I've also been getting a lot of questions regarding the presence of filler characters and/or references to filler arcs from the anime. I realize that some people aren't particularly fond of them - and I don't blame them for it, I'm not either - but I do admit to borrowing from them when it suits my purposes. The only arc that will be treated as 'canonical' is the Bount arc, because a) it actually seemed semi-plausible and b) it's not terribly difficult to work into the timeline. The only filler character that will appear in this at all (and then only briefly) is Amagai. This is due to the fact that I found his character mildly amusing while I was plodding through that arc, and keeping him alive saved me the trouble of coming up with an OC._

_EDIT (12/3/10): With regards to the actual canonical timeline (HP is set in the 90's, Bleach is set in the 2000's), ignore canon._

_Q: How is it that Ichigo appears younger than Yuzu and Karin?_  
_A: Ichigo, for all intents and purposes, is dead. As Shinigami do not age at the same rate as living humans, his sisters have aged more than he has and therefore look older, even if they really aren't._

_Q: Will XXX-character appear in this?_  
_A: Probably. Most of all the Bleach main cast (and some of the minor) is slated for an appearance eventually. Have patience, young grasshopper._

_Q: Is there an Ichigo/XXX-character pairing in this?_  
_A: I'm going to be honest and say that I'm not confident enough in my writing ability to attempt romance, so any relationships that appear in this story are going to be well-established. As to the question of whether Ichi-kun is in a relationship with someone... yes. Who? We shall see._

_Q: Who are the current Captains of the Gotei 13?  
A: All were mentioned in chapter three, but in any case: (1) Ukitake J.; (2) Soifon; (3) Amagai S.; (4) Unohana R.; (5) Kurosaki I/Shirosaki A.; (6) Kuchiki B.; (7) Komamura S.; (8) Kyouraku S.; (9) Abarai R.; (10) Hitsugaya T.; (11) Zaraki K.; (12); Kurotsuchi M.; (13) Kuchiki R._

_EDIT (12/3/10): Vice-captains/people who fill that capacity: (1) Kotetsu K. & Kotsubaki S. (3rd seats); (2) No idea; (3) Kira I.; (4) No idea; (5) None; (6) No idea; (7) Hisagi S.; (8) Ise N.; (9) Iba T.; (10) Matsumoto R.; (11) Kusajishi Y.; (12) Kurotsuchi N; (13) Kanou A._

_Q: Shiro/Hichigo/whatever-you-want-to-call-him has a name. Explain.  
__A: Yes he does. It is my opinion that simply calling someone by their most obvious characteristic - in this case, whiteness - does not qualify as a proper name. A nickname, perhaps (and 'Shiro' is indeed used as such on a regular basis by pretty much everybody), but not a real name. Thus the need to invent one. I had a few requirements: it had to be a homonym for a fruit, just to stick with apparent Kurosaki family tradition, it had to have a decent meaning, and it had to sound reasonable. Thus Shirosaki Anzu (_白崎 晏守_,__ if you really must know), with 'anzu' being a homonym for 'apricot,' was born. I freely admit I don't speak a word of Japanese, and I really have no idea on what the pronunciation rules are, so thename might more properly transliterate as 'ansu', but... meh. It worked for Yuzu (the last kanji in her name is also pronounced 'su'). If somebody wants to correct me, go ahead. And yes, I am extremely aware of the irony of that name. I find it mildly amusing._

_Q: When/Will Avalon show up?  
A: Yes they will. Eventually._

_Q: Whatever happened to Ukitake's tuberculosis?  
A: It's still there, just bettere controlled thanks to a combination of kidou, Inoue's healing, and modern TB medication (provided by Isshin)._

_Q: Why has Dumbledore never heard of Shinigami? Isn't he supposed to know a lot of different languages?  
A: 'Shinigami' is a technical, foreign term used to refer to the members of a highly secretive, otherworldly organization that has very little interaction with normal society; it shouldn't be too surprising that he has not heard them referred to as such before. That being said, __I imagine Dumbledore as focusing his attention on magical languages (such as Mermish), rather than human ones, and the human ones he did learn would be those best applied in the European setting. While it is implied that he knew Japanese at one point, he learned it long ago and has forgotten most of it due to time and lack of use._

_Q: Why are the wizards so confused about an object having its own soul?  
A: I imagine that, while wizards are capable of enchanting a sort of artificial intelligence onto objects (such as the suits of armor), the object in question is limited in its capabilities - the suits of armor do not, for example, display any modicum of independence short of shifting to more 'comfortable' positions. A complete soul (not a fragment of one), however, is quite different from that sort of enchantment, and an object having one of its own (as opposed to one 'given' to it by magic) is extremely far-fetched._

_Q: It seems that the Bleach-verse is dominant towards the HP-verse.  
A: Yes, I am aware of this. I do not intend to put down JKR's universe in any way, but none of her characters are capable of levelling mountains with one blow; Kubo's characters have them outclassed in terms of raw power by several factors of ten. That being said, the wizards have a number of advantages over them, not the least of which is versatility. A wand and its spells are infinitely more versatile than a sword and a set number of abilities, and Kidou is so limited in its scope that it cannot compete with magic in that regard (and no, they are not the same thing)._

_Q: Can we expect more focus on the HP characters?  
A: To be completely honest, I find them more difficult/less interesting to write that the Bleach characters, so probably not. That is not to say that there will be no character development on their end, but I view this story as more an exploration of some of the HP-verse's quirks/mysteries from a Bleach-verse perspective that takes place within HP canon rather than an outright 'let's-change-everything-NOW' type crossover, so it will naturally focus on them._

Q: Will you EVER be making changes to canon?  
A: Yes, eventually. I freely admit to borrowing heavily from JKR's original (or as original as it can be with a US version of the text) story. Please bear in mind, however, that while the Bleach characters have been interacting with the HP characters, their involvement in major plot points has so far been minimal. Now that their interaction-time is increasing, changes will (hopefully) appear. You will note, however, that the overall HP-plotline has been accelerated; remember, they already found one of the Horcruxes (though admittedly, they don't know what it is yet) when they didn't find it until HP-7 canonically, so expect some changes/acceleration in that regard.

_I hope that has addressed most of the major comments/concerns. If you still have questions that I have not answered/commented on, feel free to either press the little blue link at the bottom of the page or PM me._

_Much love,  
Nesarna_


	11. Who We Are

**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes._**

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine._**

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Eleventh

-0-

Ichigo emerged out of the fire into a dark and dingy-looking pub. No one looked up as he stumbled to his feet, wiping dust and ash of his clothes. Mrs. Weasley bustled over to him and, with surprising strength for a woman of her age, hauled the Shinigami upright.

"Oh, thank Merlin, you made it. Come quickly, we don't want to block the fireplace…" she led him back towards the bar, where a balding old man waved at the pair of them.

"Afternoon, Molly! Who's that you got there? Not another one, I 'ope," he called, grinning toothily. "I gotta new batch o' Gillywater just in from the States, care for a glass?"

"No thanks Tom," Mrs. Weasley replied, ushering Ichigo through a door near the back. "I've got lots of shopping to do before term starts, all those books to buy… here we are," she said, stopping at a wall near the back and drawing her wand. "All right. One up, three across…"

The brick she had tapped wiggled. Then the one next to it twitched which started a chain reaction and quickly the wall vanished, replaced by a magnificent stone archway.

"Come on, this way," she urged, dragging Ichigo by the arm. "We need to stop at Gringotts first."

"'Gringotts?'" Ichigo repeated, eyes darting back and forth at the various shops that lined the alley. Dozens of witches and wizards in robes of varying colors filled the streets: teenage students weaved around the adults, trying to do some last-minute shopping, small children hurrying back and forth clutching sweets, vendors hawking their wares – Diagon Alley was jam-packed with people. Ichigo had never been particularly fond of crowds, and the Shinigami subconsciously raised his reiatsu, causing a few elderly witches on his left to shudder violently.

"The wizarding bank," Mrs. Weasley supplied before plunging deeper into the throng. "Come quickly."

Combined with his usual scowl, the thin veil of reiatsu kept most of the crowd at bay as Ichigo followed the Weasley matron down the street to a large, marble structure that seemed to be teetering on the edge of falling sideways. Ichigo tried not to stare at the small creatures that stood guard on either side of the massive golden doors as Mrs. Weasley led him inside. Behind the gold doors were another set, these ones solid silver, bearing an inscription:

'_Enter, stranger, but take heed  
__Of what awaits the sin of greed;  
__For those who take, but do not earn,  
__Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
__So if you seek beneath our floors  
__A treasure that was never yours,  
__Thief, you have been warned: beware  
__Of finding more than treasure there_.'

"Friendly, aren't they?" he commented idly, eyeing the guards warily. They glared back, watching the Shinigami nervously.

Mrs. Weasley shrugged, walking up to one of several long lines in front of the desks. "They're goblins. Bill told you about them, didn't he?"

He frowned for a moment before nodding. "Aa, I remember." A sudden thought occurred to him. "Er – Weasley-san, how am I paying for everything?"

She waved him off, stepping forward to the nearest teller. "Don't worry dear, Professor Dumbledore gave you access to the Hogwarts vault – hello," she said brightly to the goblin. "We'd like to make withdrawals from Arthur Weasley's vault and the Hogwarts trust vault, please."

The goblin glared at her down his long, crooked nose. "You have the key, miss?"

Mrs. Weasley dug around in her handbag for a moment before extracting a tiny golden key at the end of a long chain. She passed this to the goblin, who examined it closely for a moment. Then he pressed a small button on a box near his elbow and spoke in a gravely, rasping language that Ichigo could make neither heads nor tails of. The box seemed to be a communication device, for after a second, another equally harsh voice issued from a tiny speaker embedded in the side. After a moment, the teller nodded curtly. "…That seems to be in order. Ragnok, Griphook!"

A pair of goblins emerged from behind the counter. The first – presumably Ragnok – led Mrs. Weasley toward a small, rickety-looking cart on tracks near the back of the lobby. The teller turned to the remaining goblin. "Please escort the young man to the Hogwarts Vault office, and get him what he needs. Manager Vogrok has given his approval."

"Yes sir." The goblin – again, Ichigo assumed this to be Griphook – motioned for Ichigo to follow him through a side door and into a long, marble lit by flickering gas-lamps. After a moment Griphook spoke, his voice low and gravelly.

"We will offer you our services this one time only, as you have made no move to harm us or our gold, but after today neither you nor your ilk are to set foot in this establishment."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I follow, Griphook-san."

Griphook scoffed. "You can hide behind that shell of flesh all you want, Reaper, but that does not change the fact that you are no more human than I."

The orange-haired teenager hummed thoughtfully, hands in his pockets. "Ah, I see. How did you know? Most people can't tell the difference between a live and dead soul."

The goblin snorted derisively. "You positively _reek_ of death and blood. Any being with half a brain can tell you that – which of course explains why the idiot wizards have noticed nothing."

"…Don't think much of them, do you?" Ichigo asked lightly.

Griphook paused midstride to glare at the Shinigami. "They look down upon my people. They believe that they and they alone are the supreme magical being. We are denied the rights and privileges they afford themselves with hardly a second thought. We are not even _second_-_class_ citizens," he seethed. "You will forgive me if I do not think highly of the fools."

"Hn." They walked in silence through another large, mahogany door, coming to a halt before a heavy iron vault. An elaborate seal decorated the front, featuring a golden lion, silver snake, bronze eagle, and obsidian badger all intertwined around a large letter 'H.' The guard beside the door stiffened at his approach.

"At ease, Bogrod," Griphook said sharply.

Bogrod's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he did not loosen his grip on the long, deadly-looking pike in his hand. Ichigo frowned slightly in concentration, trying to tame his wild reiatsu in an effort to appear less intimidating. He had bad memories of fighting against Ikkaku's shikai, and he wouldn't have put it past the Gringott's goblins to have put several nasty enchantments on that spear of theirs. Like poison. Or something that kept blood from clotting. Curses weren't entirely unfeasible, either. Besides which, the serrated edge on the spearhead looked rather painful; he didn't know how well his regeneration abilities could affect his physical body, and he wasn't particularly eager to find out.

"…_He_ is one of…" Bogrod hissed.

"Yes."

"Then…?"

"Manager Vogrok has approved. Step aside."

Bogrog reluctantly drew back, though his grip on the spearshaft didn't weaken in the slightest. Griphook approached the vault, laid his palm against an indent in the sprawling gold-leaf carving, and immediately the vault door dissolved into a fine golden dust. Griphook stepped inside, scooped several little gold, silver, and bronze pieces into a small leather bag he'd produced from nowhere, and stepped back out. With a snap the powder flew back into position, leaving a very solid steel door behind.

"Fifty galleons in total. It should suffice for the school year," he snapped. "Seventeen silver Sickles to the gold Galleon, twenty-nine bronze Knuts to the Sickle. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Arigatou."

Griphook nodded curtly and whirled around, striding back towards the main lobby. With a brief glance at Bogrod to reassure himself that the guard-goblin wouldn't attack him the second his back was turned, Ichigo followed.

Halfway down the corridor lined with portraits of famous goblins, he asked, "Sumimasen, Griphook-san. Can I ask you something?" The goblin's dark eyes glanced at him, and he took this as a cue to continue. "Is there a reason you don't seem to like my kind?"

Griphook turned and fixed the Shinigami with a level stare. "Our race memory is long, Reaper. For many long millennia your people have protected mine from the totenmaske in exchange for our iron and steel. But you have reneged on your end of the bargain; every year we lose half a dozen of our children to them. We are businessmen, Reaper. We do not appreciate being cheated."

And without another word, Griphook pushed open the mahogany doors and ushered Ichigo into the lobby, slamming the doors shut behind him.

-0-

The afternoon passed quickly. Mrs. Weasley took him around to all the shops, collecting the materials he'd need for the coming year. Robe-buying had been an interesting experience, as the sales-witch kept trying to sell him a set of frilly, lurid green robes, claiming they would 'contrast wonderfully with his hair.' Needless to say, Ichigo had refused her offer point blank. When Mrs. Weasley had pointed out that he _would_ need a set of dress-robes for the coming term, he'd reluctantly consented and selected a black robe off the rack, despite the sales-witch's insistence that black would look 'absolutely horrid' on him. Ichigo wasn't sure whether to believe her on that or not, but he'd been wearing black for so many years now that wearing other colors just seemed strange.

At least the black number he'd picked was similar enough to his bankai uniform that it wouldn't be _too_ awkward.

…Hopefully…

Shiro's cackling laughter did nothing to soothe his bruised ego.

After visiting Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, they had gone to the apothecary: a small, cramped store filled with all manner of vials and jars and dried things hanging from the ceiling. Ichigo was unpleasantly reminded of some of the milder rooms in the Research and Development labs ('mild' because there were no live, mutated animals in cages), and he did his best not to think too long or hard on the identity of a lumpy green… _thing_ that might once have been an living creature suspended in a bell jar near the counter.

They stopped briefly at the Magical Menagerie so Mrs. Weasley could pick up owl treats for Hedwig and Pigwidgeon. While she waited in line behind a man whose two-headed lizard was shedding great flakes of skin all over the counter, Ichigo looked dispassionately around at the various creatures on display. While the letter had said he was allowed to bring a pet to Hogwarts, he'd never really even considered it. Pets were something he had neither the time nor the patience for, and it wasn't exactly like he knew how to take care of an animal in the first place.

That was Yuzu's thing. When she was younger she always seemed to bring stray animals back with her to the clinic. Cats and dogs of all shapes, sizes, and colors… She'd tried to convince Isshin a few times to let her keep them, but he always refused, claiming that animals in the clinic would be bad for the patient's health. Allergies, he said. Not to mention it would shed all over _everything_, which was hardly sanitary.

"(Not like I could take one of you back to Seireitei anyway,)" he muttered under his breath. Ever since Rukia had smuggled that damned rabbit of hers back through one of Urahara's illegal Senkaimon and it had torn up a good chunk of the Kuchiki estate's carefully manicured gardens and – even more terrifying – thoroughly mangled Unohana's flowerbed, the traffic of Real World animals had all but screeched to a halt. They'd let Rukia keep Chappy Jr. (mostly because she was fiercely protective of the thing and nobody wanted to be staring down her Bankai), but everything except 'animals necessary to the continued production of basic necessities' – i.e., food – was summarily banned.

Most of the creatures seemed to shrink back in their cages when he approached. Probably intimidated by his reiatsu, he thought. He'd gotten a bit better at reiatsu control over the years – enough to use Cero and the odd kidou spell – but it would never be his area of expertise.

"Oh dear, it seems the wafnins have taken a great liking to you."

He jumped in surprise, cursing himself for not noticing the dreamy-looking witch sneaking up behind him. She had scraggly blonde hair that fell to her waist, slightly protuberant eyes, and wore an eccentric collection of clothes from seemed to have been collected from multiple decades. "Er…"

"It's quite possibly one of the worst infestations I've ever seen," she continued blithely. "They're very angry, too. Have you been eating a lot of cabbage lately?"

Ichigo wasn't sure if the girl was being serious or not. "Uh, no. What the hell are wafmims?"

She blinked benignly. "Wafnins. They're insects that infest the hair of certain people and eat their earwax. I've never seen black wafnins before, they're usually yellow. But then again, I've never really met a thanatos. They must attract a different kind of wafnin…"

Ichigo felt the insides of his stomach grow cold. "A – _what_?"

"You're one of the thanati, aren't you?" she asked. "I've seen them before, you know. There's a pair that live near my house, I talk to them sometimes. Not very often of course, but they're very nice. I've never seen one in normal clothes, though; Daniel and Lauren always wear armor."

Ichigo frowned. "…I have no idea what you're talking about."

She nodded understandingly. "Yes, yes, of course. Dan and Laura don't talk much about it either, I think it's supposed to be secret. Don't worry, I won't tell. What are you doing here, anyway? Are you looking for a pet? I'd get a white-tailed gramdoil myself, since they prey on wafnins. It would help with your infestation, you know. But they are rather hard to come by, since they only live in Brazil…"

Ichigo blinked. "Nani—? No, I'm not."

"Well, that's sad. Don't you want any friends? Then again, I don't think you can take animals back to your home, can you?"

He scowled. "…I already told you. I really _don't_ know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I suppose you did."

Mrs. Weasley bustled over, her arms laden with bags. "Ready to go? Oh, hello Luna dear," she said, taking notice of the blonde girl. "Doing some last minute shopping?"

The girl shook her head, large raddish-shaped earrings clinking loudly. "Oh no, Mrs. Weasley, just stopping by. Daddy wanted me to get a jar of pickled eel livers for the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. We're going on an expedition next summer, it will be quite fun I expect. Well, it was nice seeing you Mr. Thanatos, Mrs. Weasley."

The girl vanished as quickly as she'd appeared.

Ichigo stared at the spot she had been only seconds before. "…She's an odd one, isn't she?"

"Who, Luna? Yes, I suppose she is," Mrs. Weasley agreed distractedly. "Let's get going. Just the wand, left, yes?"

He glanced at the list, which he'd tucked into the pocket of his jacket. Quickly scanning it, he said, "Aa. Just that and the textbooks."

"Right. I'll drop you off at Ollivander's, then come back after I've finished at Flourish and Blotts. Is there anything you want me to pick up while I'm there?"

Ichigo paused, thinking. "…Do they have a mail-order catalog?"

"Yes, I think so. Would you like me to get one?"

"Hai. Arigatou," he added.

"Think nothing of it, dear. Here we are," she said brightly, stopping in front of a weathered shop. Ichigo peered through the grimy window at the display; a single wand sat on a threadbare purple cushion under the accumulated dust of ages. A sign overhead read 'Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 392 B.C.'

"Go on in, Mr. Ollivander is waiting."

Ichigo nodded and stepped through the door. A bell tinkled from somewhere deep inside the shop. "Hello?" he called, staring around the empty room. He suppressed a shiver; the thick dust and silence were unnerving.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice behind him.

Ichigo almost jumped a foot in the air. A blistering red sphere flew through the air, buzzing past the ear of a pale, silvery-eyed man with wispy white hair to explode against one of the box-lined walls. "Er… sorry about that," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

The man smiled faintly. "Not to worry, not to worry…" He drew a thin wand from inside the sleeve of his robe and with a flick, the boxes zoomed back onto the shelf. "All my storage cases are enchanted with Unbreakable Charms… though I must say, that _is_ the most violent reaction I have seen in many, many years. Well then, what can I do for you today, Mr.…?"

"Kurosaki," Ichigo supplied. "And I'm looking for a wand."

The wandmaker nodded, having expected nothing less. "Of course, of course…" A tape measure flew off the counted and into his outstretched hand. "Dare I ask what happened to your old one?" he asked, pulling boxes off the shelves.

"Didn't have one." Ichigo suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was currently measuring the distance between his nostrils, was doing so of its own volition.

"Ah. I see." Mr. Ollivander selected a box from the top of the pile and passed it to the Shinigami. "Cedar, dragon heartstring, ten inches. Whippy. Go on, give it a wave…"

Ichigo took it and, feeling rather stupid, waved it through the air. A vase on the counter shattered.

"Not that one, then. Try this one: Vinewood, unicorn tail hair. Thirteen inches."

A row of boxes near the ceiling crashed to the ground, scattering wands all over the floor.

"No, not that one either… let's see, Birch and phoenix feather, eleven inches…"

And so it went. Ollivander did not seem to mind the wanton destruction of his shop; indeed, the more 'tried' boxes that piled on the floor, the more excited the man seemed to become. "Tricky customer, tricky customer… unusual combination: yew and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches. Rigid. Give it a wave…"

The Shinigami took it, mentally preparing himself for another loud _crash_. To his immense surprise, a number of black-red sparks shot out of the tip, but Ollivander's satisfied smiled quickly faded as the sparks fizzled rapidly away into nothing.

The old wandmaker frowned. "Not a match? I'd thought for certain…" He summoned the abandoned tape measure and examined it closely. "No, there's nothing wrong with it…" he trailed off, eyeing the Shinigami uncertainly. "I don't think any of the conventional wands will work for you, Mr. Kurosaki," he said at last. "There might be something back in the workroom… I wonder… Follow me, please."

He moved behind the counter and through a door leading deeper into the store. The small workshop was crammed with cabinets and boxes, with a thin layer of sawdust covering nearly every surface. A shelf filled with jars and boxes of all shapes and sizes stood against a far wall.

"You should have told me, Mr. Kurosaki, that you were buying for two," the wandmaker said, clearing wood shavings off the nearest workbench.

"…Excuse me?"

"Never in all my years – or even my _grandfathers' _years – has a wandmaker ever encountered a twin-soul," Ollivander continued, selecting several jars off the shelf.

The Shinigami froze, midway through his examination of a box of glittering scales. "…I don't understand, Ollivander-san," he said warily.

The wandmaker chuckled. "Oh, I'm quite certain you do. A divided soul… one is two and two are one. Never has a true spirit-division been documented in the entirety of wizarding knowledge… Truly, it is a wonder to meet one."

Ichigo paled and slowly set the box back on its shelf, fighting to keep his hands from shaking. So, Ollivander knew. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel Shiro's shock mixing with his own. Even the unflappable Zangetsu seemed unnerved. No one, not even Urahara – though he _had_ figured it out eventually – had been able to deduce the nature of their existence so quickly.

"How did you know?" he asked warily, echoing both his and the Hollow's sentiments.

Ollivander's silver eyes glinted in the light filtering in through the grimy window. "Most wizards do not understand truly wands, Mr. Kurosaki. To them they are just pieces of wood, little more than tools for casting spells – nothing could be farther from the truth. They are living things, just like you or I. A wand reaches its greatest potential when its magic resonates with its destined partner – its wizard. That is why a one can never get the same results with another's wand.

"There exists a rough science for matching resonant wands with their wielders; that is the trial-and-error process you saw in the shop. I thought I had finally found the correct wand for you – too savage for unicorn, too dark for phoenix; too much power for oak or ash, but not the right temperament for beech or holly, either." He sighed. "Yew, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches – I was so certain that was the correct combination for you, Mr. Kurosaki. And the wand did react positively – that was the sparks. But it still wasn't the _right_ one." He shook his head. "So why, I asked myself, is it that a compatible wand is not a true match? A split-soul is the only explanation."

Ichigo nodded slowly and breathed a sigh of relief. "…I… think I understand. What should we do? I – _we_ – still need a wand."

The wandmaker smiled faintly. "Oh, it's quite simple, really. We say that the wand chooses the wizard, but all that truly matters is resonance. Most wizards, however, lack the ability to find that resonance for themselves, thus the need for the testing process. But if the wizard can sense it for _himself_… You must select the components from these supplies," he said, gesturing to the workbench, where he'd gathered several jars, boxes, and blocks of wood, all arranged neatly in rows. "Feel out with your magic. The correct materials will… call to you. You will know them."

Ichigo hesitated for a moment before agreeing. "…Alright."

_Shiro?_

_Aa. I'm 'ere._

_Let's do this_.

Ollivander was nearly blown off his feet by the tidal wave of power that suddenly crashed through the room. The sheer volume of it was enough to cause the candles overhead to flicker and the window to shatter into thousands of shards of glass. It felt like clawed talons had settled around his throat, forcing the air out of his lungs.

Almost as quickly as it appeared, the suffocating aura suddenly vanished. The wandmaker took in great, desperate gulps of air as he tried not to stare in awe at the being – for surely no mere _human_ could hold such power – who was scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

"Gomen," he said sheepishly. "I'm – _we're_ – really bad at anything requiring fine control… You said to feel for the resonance, right?" Ollivander nodded mutely, and Ichigo tentatively released his grip on his reiatsu. Ever since the end of the war, he'd been doing his best to keep it at least marginally controlled; the sheer volume of power he exuded on a constant basis was intimidating – which was good for fights on the battlefield, but not so much for interacting with normal people. Unintentionally crushing the elders you were trying to work with did nothing to smooth the negotiation process.

Eyes closed, Ichigo felt about the room. The substances on the table emitted a weak reiatsu of their own, but all of them paled in comparison to his own flood… but…

_King. Ya feel that?_

_Aa._ The Shinigami's eyes snapped open, and he stepped over to the table, looking uncertainly at the items laid out there. A block of wood so dark it was nearly black, right beside a slab of creamy-white material, and a thin crystal tube containing a number of long, dark hairs.

"Were you successful?" Ollivander asked, coming over to stand beside him.

"Hai," he said quietly. "We think… these."

The wandmaker examined the proffered materials with a raised eyebrow. After a moment he nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose it _does_ make sense in a way… Twin wands for twin souls: one of ebony, the other of ivory – curious selection, ivory; most wizards cannot channel magic through it as it isn't a true wand-wood," he murmured, almost to himself. "But then, you aren't a normal wizard, are you, Mr. Kurosaki? And a core of… oh my," Ollivander stuttered, eyes going wide. "Oh my word. Merlin. Thestral hair. Good heavens."

"…Is that bad?"

Ollivander blinked rapidly as though coming out of a daze. "It's a very rare wizard who can use a thestral-hair wand freely. Their magical properties are… volatile, not to mention _highly_ selective. These were collected by my great grand-uncle, Abraham – they've been sitting on that shelf for nigh on three hundred years. I must confess, I am unsure whether I will be able to create proper wands for either of you with it. You… you _are_ positive that this is the correct core?"

Ichigo nodded. "Hai, Ollivander-san. We're positive." He hesitated before continuing. "Will… will you be able to make them?"

Ollivander smiled faintly. "Oh, I shall certainly try, Mr. Kurosaki. But it will take some time…" After a moment he nodded to himself. "Yes, I think that will work. Take the yew wand," he said, indicating the battered box. "It is at least a partial match… I will send the new ones to you once they are finished."

The front doorbell rang, and Mrs. Weasley's voice called, "Ichigo dear? Mr. Ollivander?"

"Back here, Weasley-san," he called back.

Her figure appeared in the doorway, arms laden with shopping bags. "Have you got your wand, then?" Not waiting for an answer, she looked around the room curiously. "What are you doing back here? He's not causing you trouble I hope, Mr. Ollivander."

The wandmaker beamed. "Mr. Kurosaki simply had a few questions about wand-making, Molly dear. It's rare to meet a youngster with such an interest in wandlore; he'll make a fine wandmaker one day," he said, smiling in the Shinigami's direction. "If he so chooses, of course."

Ichigo smiled weakly. "Ano… sure…"

He paid the old wandmaker ten galleons for the yew wand and shouldered several of the shopping bags, Mr. Ollivander bowing them from his shop.

-0-

Ichigo shut his trunk with a snap and surveyed the bedroom, looking for any missing things he'd forgotten to pack. He, Harry, and Ron had spent the better part of the afternoon collecting their belongings. For what little he'd brought, Ichigo was rather astounded at how scattered his possessions had managed to become – somehow a spare haori had managed to get trapped in a wardrobe on the first floor, and it'd taken nearly an hour to dislodge the thing from its fangs. He vaguely wondered how it was that a piece of furniture had managed to develop _teeth_, then promptly decided he really didn't want to know.

"All packed?" Harry asked from the doorway. Ichigo nodded. "Right then, well, come downstairs, Mrs. Weasley says dinner's ready."

The kitchen was decorated with lurid streamers, bright lights, and a red banner hung from the ceiling, bearing the slogan 'Congratulations Ron and Hermione – New Prefects' in gold.

"I thought we'd have a little party," Mrs. Weasley explained as Ichigo and Harry sat down at the heavily-laden table. "Ron, I sent an owl to Bill and your father, they're absolutely _thrilled_. They're both on their way now. Help yourselves to food, everyone," she said to the room at large.

Sirius, Lupin, Urahara, the pink-haired woman he recognized as Tonks and a tall, dark-skinned man he vaguely recalled as being named Shacklebolt were already there. The gnarled old wizard Ichigo recognized as Moody stumped in few moments after Ichigo had grabbed a glass of water. Harry, Ron and the twins all shot him incredulous looks as they took themselves bottles of something labeled 'butterbeer,' apparently amazed that the Shinigami had turned it down for plain water.

Ichigo ignored them. He had long ago made it his policy to avoid anything even remotely alcoholic whenever he wasn't socially obligated to drink the stuff (like at Kyouraku's parties). The _one time _Ikkaku had roped him into bar-hopping with Yumichika, Matsumoto, Hisagi, and the rest, he'd woken up in a nondescript village in Rukongai missing both sandals and the top half of his shihakushou and with a pounding headache that briefly made him wonder if Shiro had decided to play Frisbee with several pots and pans inside his head, only to remember that the Hollow – in a moment of unprecedented wisdom – had decided to have 'Playtime with Ken-chan' (as Yachiru called it, and which usually resulted in lots of broken bones, minor concussions, severe blood loss, and the destruction of large tracts of real estate) rather than go out to town the night before.

Needless to say, Shiro had been less than thrilled with the hangover he was forced to share the next day, which coupled with the injuries sustained when he'd 'played' with the insane Eleventh's captain had him in a sour mood for the rest of the week. Even Zangetsu was annoyed, as the constant dizziness made it impossible for him to stand on his favorite flagpole.

"Oh, Alastor, I'm glad you're here," Mrs. Weasley said when she saw him, smiling widely. "We've been wanting to ask you for ages – coud you have a look at the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's inside it? We're pretty sure it's a boggart, but we didn't want to open it incase it was something really nasty."

"No problem, Molly." Moody's blue eye swiveled upwards, seemingly staring through the ceiling. "Drawing room… desk in the corner. Yeah, it's a boggart," he said, turning to look at Mrs. Weasley with his normal eye. "Want me to get rid of it?"

Mrs. Weasley waved him off, still beaming. "No, I'll do it myself later. We're having a bit of a party, actually," she confessed, gesturing to the scarlet banner overhead. She ruffled Ron's hair affectionately, causing the redhead's ears to turn an odd shade of maroon. "Fourth prefect in the family!"

Moody raised an eyebrow. "Prefect, eh?" The blue eye swiveled to point out the side of his head. Ichigo felt vaguely nauseous just watching it. "Well, congratulations. Authority figures attract trouble, so I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes and hexes, else he wouldn't have appointed you…"

Ron looked mildly disturbed at the idea that he was now a target for curses. Ichigo laughed.

Mr. Weasley (who had arrived a few moments before Moody, along with the pony-tailed son Bill) put a sympathetic hand on his son's shoulder. "I think a toast is in order," he called over the hum of the crowd. He raised his goblet. "To Ron and Hermione, new Gryffindor prefects!"

The pair of them grinned widely as the chorus of 'Cheers!' went up from the crowd, followed by a round of applause.

"…Course, I was never a prefect myself," Tonks was saying as everyone rushed forward to help themselves to Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking. "My Head of House said I was lacking in certain qualities."

"Like what?" Ginny wondered interestedly.

"Like the ability to behave myself," Tonks answered brightly, taking a baked potato off the top of the pile.

Ginny laughed. Hermione looked like she couldn't decide whether to smile or frown in disapproval. She compromised by choking on her butterbeer.

"What about you, Sirius?" Ginny asked, pounding the brunette on the back.

Sirius grinned widely. "You kidding? No one in their right mind would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin here was the good boy, he got the badge."

Lupin snorted into his plate of chicken pot pie. "I think Dumbledore was hoping I would be able to exercise some measure of control over my friends. I'm afraid to say I failed _abysmally_."

Urahara leaned in, patting Lupin on the back consolingly. "Maa maa, Remus-kun. Such is the burden we in authority must bear. Why, back in the day I had such a horrible time convincing Sarugaki-san to get out of that dark laboratory, out into the sunlight and to finish the stack of paperwork that always seemed to accumulate on her desk… t'was tragic I tell you, absolutely tragic."

"Funny, Hiyori tells it differently," Ichigo drawled from across the table. "Seems to think it was _you_ who let the squad's paperwork pile up."

Urahara paused, looking thoughtful. "Was it?"

The younger Shinigami rolled his eyes. "Urahara, you _still_ have the bruise from all the times she smacked you!"

Urahara winced, patting the back of his head gingerly. "Ah, so I do. Oh well. Kampai!" he cheered, tipping his bottle in the general vicinity of Ron and Hermione. "This stuff's wonderful, almost as good as Shunsui-kun's bicentennial sake… what's it called again?"

Ichigo shook his head at the former juunibantai taichou's antics and made a mental note to stay as far away from whatever the older man was drinking as possible. He wandered through the crowd, nodding briefly whenever someone paused in their conversation to say hello. Moody lumbered over to him, clutching a plate of food.

"That man," he growled. "Who is he?"

"Who, hat-'n'-clogs?" asked Ichigo, glancing at the blonde, who was attempting to teach Sirius, Tonks, and Remus a drinking song. As Urahara could only remember about a third of the words, the four of them were failing rather specatularly, but no one seemed to care. "That's Kisuke Urahara. A… friend."

The gnarled wizard sniffed at a chicken leg with what remained of his nose before tearing a strip off it with his teeth. "Know him then, do you boy?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Like I said, he's a friend. Taught me everything I know. Owe him my life."

"Hm. How'd he get in?"

Ichigo shrugged again. "Same way I did."

Moody's magical eye flickered between Ichigo and Urahara. "So he's like you then, is he?"

The Shinigami nodded. "Aa. Older, though. And probably stronger in the long run."

Moody grunted.

After some time, Mrs. Weasley yawned widely. "Well, I think I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in. Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? They've got to catch the train early tomorrow. 'Night Harry dear, Hermione, Ichigo…"

At the reminder of the time, all the teenagers yawned widely. Harry put his plate down on the table, looking almost longingly after Mrs. Weasley. Ichigo eyed him curiously. The boy's mood had been fluctuating chaotically all day, ever since the letters from Hogwarts had arrived. He had a sneaking suspicion that Potter was secretly jealous of Ron's being made prefect.

"You all right, Potter?" Moody growled.

"Er – what? Oh, yeah. Fine," Harry said. Ichigo and Moody exchanged split-second, dubious glances. Potter was a terrible liar.

"Oh, that reminds me," the gnarled wizard muttered, reaching in the pocket of his robes. "Come here, Potter. I've got something to show you. You too, Kurosaki," he added, gesturing for the pair of them to come closer. Ichigo leaned in, trying to see what Moody was holding. About two dozen wizards gazed up at him, some waving energetically, others shifting awkwardly as though embarrassed by all the attention.

"Original Order of the Phoenix," Moody said, a hint of something like pride hidden in his usual growl. "Found it last night… thought people might like to see it. There's me." He pointed – rather unnecessarily – at what was clearly a younger version of himself minus a couple of scars. "And let's see… there's Dumbledore of course, hasn't hardly changed at all has he? And there's Benjy Fenwick, we only found pieces of him… That's Marlene McKinnon, killed about two weeks after this was taken. They got her whole family, too… Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this. We never found his body… There's Frank and Alice Longbottom, poor devils. Better off dead than what happened to them…" Harry shivered uncomfortably, but Moody didn't seem to notice.

In fact, for a wizard who prided himself on his observation skills, Moody hardly seemed to notice the younger teen's growing discomfort at all as he continued to name the members of the old Order. "…and… there you go. Thought it would interest you!"

Harry froze and his reiatsu flared wildly, clearly on the verge of panic, as the old auror pointed to a smiling couple sitting on either side of a small, twitchy-looking man. Ichigo saw a flash of vivid red, brilliant green, and jet black before Moody shifted the image so Potter could get a better look.

Moody gave him a rather lopsided smile. "Eh?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said, making a half-hearted attempt to sound enthusiastic. Um… listen, I haven't packed my—"

"What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?" Sirius called. Moody turned toward him. Harry took advantage of the man's momentary distraction and fled, slipping through the kitchen door and into the hallway.

Ichigo hesitated for a split second before following. "Oi! Po – Harry! Matte!"

Harry paused, half-way up the steps to the second floor. His eyes shone with an odd mixture of anger, sadness, and pain. "What?" he snapped.

The Shinigami ignored the teenager's tone. "You alright?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice gentle.

"I'm fine, I'm – oh, who the hell am I kidding," he muttered, slumping down on his step. "You saw that picture, Ichigo. All those people… it's just…"

With a sigh, Ichigo sat down beside him on the staircase. "That's the reality of war, Harry," he said quietly. "Their deaths… it's horrible, but that's how things happen."

Harry nodded uncomfortably. "Yeah, I know, it's just… my _parents_ were in that photo. They were so…" He gulped audibly. "I don't have many pictures of them, you know? And they looked so… happy and carefree… and then… It's just awful."

A memory of a red-haired woman with brilliant green eyes and a man with messy, jet-black hair and glasses flashed before his eyes. "Hn."

"You were in a war, weren't you?" Harry asked after a moment. "Did… did anyone you know…"

Ichigo smiled sadly. "Ikkaku lost an arm and Yumichika had to learn to walk again," he said quietly. "Hiyori's paralyzed from the waist down and Hanatarou can't breathe most of the time – had his ribcage crushed near the end – and Kyouraku-san's been on antidepressants since we lost Yamamoto. No one knows when or even if Hinamori will wake up." He sighed heavily. "A lot of people died. A _lot_ of people. Nobody I knew personally, but… We were lucky. _Really_ lucky. None of my nakama… There were a lot of near-misses. If it hadn't been for Inoue or Unohana-san, I don't know what would have happened. I know _I_ wouldn't be here." He chuckled softly. "I think I came closer to dying more times than the rest of the army put together." He suddenly looked much older. "We were lucky the war didn't last longer than a few months, Harry. If it had dragged on… We were lucky. That's it."

"Oh…" After a minute Harry rose and stretched. Ichigo could hear the bones popping in his back. "I think I'll go to bed. You coming?"

"…Yeah."

They continued up the stairs. But as they reached the first floor landing, Ichigo paused. "You hear something?"

Harry listened, and sure enough… "Someone's crying. In the drawing room," he murmured, cracking the door open. "Hello?"

No answer. He glanced at Ichigo, who shrugged. He pushed open the door.

Mrs. Weasley was cowering against the far wall, shaking madly and staring, horrified at the figure on the floor. Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach at the sight of it: Ron's mangled corpse, lying in a pool of its own blood, glassy eyes open and staring…

"What… no…" he whispered. Ron couldn't be dead, he just couldn't—

Wait a minute. He _couldn't_! Ron was downstairs, gushing to Tonks – Lupin – _anyone who would listen_ about his new broom!

"Weasley-san?" Ichigo called, sounding worried. He looked utterly unfazed by the grisly sight. "Are you alright?"

"_Ri-riddikulus_!" she cried, pointing her shaking wand at the bloody corpse.

_CRACK_. Ron's body became Bill's, lying spread-eagled on the floor, long hair askew. She sobbed harder than ever.

"No… _Riddikulus_!"

_CRACK_. Mr. Weasley's corpse replaced his eldest son's.

She bit back a scream. "No… no… _riddikulus_! _Riddikulus_! _RIDDIKULUS_!"

_CRACK_. _CRACK_. _CRACK_. Dead twins. Dead Percy. Dead Harry…

"Mrs. Weasley!" Harry shouted, avoiding looking at his own dead body. "Let someone else—!"

She didn't seem to be able to move. Without really thinking Ichigo sprinted across the room and shook her roughly on the shoulder. "Come on, we need to get you out of here—!"

_CRACK_.

Ichigo froze at the spectre that replaced Harry's lifeless body. Cold horror settled itself in the pit of his stomach, and his mind seemed oddly blank. It couldn't be… there was no way… it was _impossible_… "Arienai…"

The lone standing figure stepped neatly over the mangled corpses, ignoring the way blood splashed up and stained the hem of its white, white clothing. It slid the bone-white mask sideways off its face to reveal a predatory grin.

"Oye, oye! Cuánto tiempo sin verte, chico! Cuánto tiempo… Demasiado tiempo, me parece. Me recuerdas, Ichigo?"

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_kampai: a toast, drink, cheers!, etc._

_arienai: adjective indicating something is improbable/impossible_

_oye: hey; imperative form of 'oir', to listen (Spanish)_

_cuánto: how much (Spanish)_

_tiempo: time (Spanish)_

_sin: without (Spanish)_

_verte: approximately 'seeing you' (lit. ver,'to see' and te, '[to] you') (Spanish)_

_chico: boy, kid; usually implies affection (Spanish)_

_me parece: (it) seems to me (lit. parece, '[it] appears/seems' and me, '[to] me') (Spanish)_

_demasiado: too much (Spanish)_

_me recuredas: remember me (lit. recuerdas, 'you remember' and me, '[to] me') (Spanish)_

_

* * *

_

_Greetings to you all._

Here is chapter eleven. I can only pray it has lived up to everyone's expectations.

A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to JNottle, LaRire, home dawg fo shizzle, Tisha, Shahar Mystral, JessieKage, wrong light, SilverFlameoftheWindScar, animelover1993, One of the Colorless, Daishusi4ka, Furionknight, Basia Orci, ArrancarMaiden, Jiyle, Requiem of Twilight, Obiki Doragon, Brown Cornelia, Mesonoxian, Taio Kaiona, Escapedslave99, Sofia10Soccer (x6), yeah9fun, dragonXXforte, FanFictionFan345, Yami-no-Tamashii, Sadie*spotty (sorry, the document manager doesn't seem to like your name), KianaNic, Anti Rainbows, and mauralucky7 for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks.

While I don't speak Japanese, I do speak reasonable Spanish (about twelve years' worth of study), so that at least should be accurate. Do correct me if I'm wrong; I haven't taken a Spanish class in about two years, so I'm a bit rusty.

_As I mentioned in the last chapter, this is the last of the rapid updates. I too am sad to see this time come to an end, but that is the way the world is. I don't know when I'll post again, but rest assured that it will happen. In the meantime, please don't lose faith in this story! No matter how long the wait, it will continue._

__

_I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know._

Much love and so long for now,  
Nesarna  
10/26/10


	12. Terror

_**DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes.**_

_**IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine.**_

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Twelfth

-0-

"Me recuerdas, Ichigo?"

Harry stumbled, suddenly very light headed. The air itself seemed to thicken, making it difficult to breathe. He was filled with a horrible, unidentifiable terror and dread, similar to the few times he had seen Ichigo use that red light technique – Cero, he thought it was called – except far, far stronger.

His eyes darted back and forth between the Shinigami and his greatest fear. The boggart's hair was equally vivid, though flecked with red, and clad in a white, bloodstained uniform not unlike the black robe Ichigo normally wore. The top was sleeveless and open at the front, revealing its muscled chest. Its eyes were a deep, angry red rather than amber, but other than that…

It was like seeing a reflection.

"Me recuerdas?" the thing repeated. Its grin was positively predatory.

Ichigo's whole body shook as he sank to his knees, staring at the figure before him with wide, terrified eyes. "Iie… iya… kisama… kisama… Kisama wa shindarou! Oretachi wa kisama wo koroshita!"

"Pensabas que sí, eh, chico?" The bloodthirsty grin widened, if that were even possible. "Por qué tienes sorpresa, chico? Por un tiempo, ustedes me vencieron. Pero… soy más fuerte! El alma _unida_ siempre es más fuerte que la _divida_!"

Ichigo's fists clenched and unclenched. "Oretachi na kisama o koroshita," he repeated, his voice little more than a whisper. "Kisama wa…"

The thing snorted derisively. "No puedes matarme, chico. Qué piensas?" it asked, gesturing to the bloody corpses littering the floor. "Mi arte." It nudged one of the bodies with its toe, a beautiful redheaded woman with her throat torn out. "Que bella está, eh? Muchísima más en la muerte que la vida."

"…Oretachi wa…"

"Y a Karin siempre le gustaba el fútbol," it continued, kicking at the next pair of corpses. Two objects rolled forward, leaving trails of blood in their wake. They finally came to a stop in front of Ichigo: pair of heads, one with black hair, the other brunette. Harry had a sudden, sickening realization of where the blood on the monster's massive, cleaver-like blade had come from.

Mrs. Weasley whimpered.

"Y claro que sí, no olvidas la Princesa." The monster stooped down and grasped the hair of a fourth corpse, that of a small, black-haired woman whose entrails glistened in the candlelight.

Blood sputtered out of her mouth as she coughed, miraculously still alive despite missing half her inner organs. "Ichi…go… dou… doushite…?"

"Yamero…"

The monster twisted its hand and her neck snapped with a sickening _crack_. The body slumped to the ground. "Aww, que triste, está muerto. Sabes, ella era mi favorita…"

"Iya… yamero… Rukia… hanarero…"

"Quieres matarme, chico? Te dije. No puedes. Soy parte de tu alma, recuerdas?"

"…Iie, sore wa…"

"Yo soy tú. Tú eres yo."

"…_kisama wa shindarou…_"

"No me puedes matar, chico. Somos el mismo. Yo y tú. Tú y yo. No puedo escaparte. No puedes escaparme."

"…_koroshita_…"

"Nosotros? Somos el mismo." It hefted the enormous blade off its shoulder, sending droplets of blood falling to the ground. The dark aura in the room intensified, and black started to creep into the edges of Harry's vision. "_Somos la Primera_!"

"_Okiro_, _Benihime._"

The sword clanged off a blood-red shield that sprang into existence at the last minute. The boggart looked around in confusion. Harry turned his head to the door to see Urahara there, the sword in his hand pointed straight at the boggart. Behind him were Moody, Lupin, and Sirius, all staring in horror at the boggart's form. Even the gnarled old auror looked disturbed at the sight of the carnage. The boggart snarled and shifted uncertainly, apparently not sure how to deal with the interruption.

"Harry?" Lupin croaked, aghast. "Ichigo? What's going—?"

He was cut off by a feral scream as with a flash of blue, Ichigo slumped to the ground and something massive and black hurtled toward the boggart. It jumped out of the way, swinging its sword around, and with a sickening _squelch_ the weapon buried itself in the creature's side. It pressed both clawed hands against the flat of the blade and pulled it out of the wound, ignoring the dark blood that came pouring forth, staining the oak paneling and threadbare carpeting on the floor.

"Sore… wa katana no oretachi. _Kisama_ wa Zangetsu o tsukau kenri o motteinai," it hissed, its voice distorted by hate and rage. An inky black, red-tinged light suddenly flooded the room, and Harry knew no more.

-0-

Urahara sighed heavily as the one by one the wizards swayed on their feet and fell to the floor. If Anzu didn't control his temper soon, the outpouring of spiritual pressure could do more than simply knock them out…

He sighed again. He hadn't told Ichigo or his Hollow because he didn't want them feeling horribly guilty about something that wasn't their fault – and he suspected they already knew, anyway, at least on some level – but their combined reiatsu was heavy enough to grind ordinary souls – and even those with weaker spiritual power – into dust, a trait shared by only a few others in the entire history of Soul Society. That Ichigo and Anzu could rival – and even _exceed_ – the power of Shinigami hundreds of times their age was a very scary thought indeed, especially factoring in their exponential growth rate. He had a feeling that, given a few centuries more experience, the pair of them would be able to crush even the strongest of souls into paste with little more than a thought.

But _that_ was another can of worms entirely. At the moment he was just thankful he'd erected a barrier around the stairs to keep the party-goers downstairs ignorant of the impending bloodbath in the drawing room.

With the boggart sufficiently distracted at the moment by Anzu's brutal assault, he flashed across the room in a burst of shunpo and picked up Harry and Mrs. Weasley's limp bodies, bringing them back towards the hallway and away from the growing bubble of overwhelming malice and wrath. He suppressed a shudder. Anzu's connection to his Shinigami half kept him sane and stable, so much so that it was often easy to forget that he was, in fact, a _Hollow_; a creature of pure, unadulterated power and instinct, born from anger and despair and hate.

Urahara decided that he was also very, _very_ grateful Anzu had kept his sanity, however tenuous his hold on it was at the moment.

He shook his head and returned his attention to the matter at hand. The fight was almost ridiculously one-sided, he decided. While the boggart may have taken that particular… _form_, it very clearly possessed none of the abilities the shape had had. It was hard-pressed to defend itself against the lizard-like Hollow's vicious attack; it brought the massive blade of the false Zangetsu up to block a slash that would have gutted it instantly, but it hadn't anticipated the heavy tail that came whipping through the air and sent it crashing bodily against the wall.

The boggart's form wavered, its expression one of pure terror as its attacker advanced on it, blood flowing freely from the wound in his side. An ominous red glow blossomed in his clawed hand, three tendrils of light spiraling into his palm, the orb nestled inside pulsing with unreleased power.

"_Shine_."

A low buzzing sound filled the room as the light intensified, painting the walls the color of blood. Almost a full minute later it cleared; there was nothing left where the boggart had been, not even a pile of ash.

Urahara sighed and shook his head dramatically. "(Yare yare, Anzu-kun. That was a bit much…)"

The Hollow turned his head and glared at him through the mask. "(I don' fuckin' care.)"

"(You should, you know. The backlash could have seriously hurt Harry-kun and the others.)"

Cracks appeared on the Hollow's skin and the dark armor shattered, revealing his usual pale form underneath. The mask dissolved into a spray of fine particles with a wave of his hand. "(…Point taken. Wari,)" he muttered after a moment, stooping and hefting Ichigo's limp arm over his shoulder and dragging him towards the dilapidated sofa.

Urahara sighed again. "(How's Ichigo-kun?)"

"(…King's fine. Just out.)"

"(Good.)" He glanced at the five unconscious wizards near the door. "(We're going to have some explaining to do.)"

Shiro grimaced as he set Ichigo's unconscious body down onto the couch. "(No chance o' wipin' their memories, then?)"

The shopkeeper hummed thoughtfully. "(Harry-kun's, perhaps. He's young and his power isn't fully matured yet… but I don't know how well it will work on the others. I can give it a shot anyway, if you like.)"

"(Do it.)" Shiro grimaced, still bleeding all over the carpet. "(Chikushou.)" He shut his eyes and concentrated reiatsu toward the wound. When he opened them a second later, blood had stopped pouring, leaving nothing but a thin scar indistinguishable from the hundreds of others like it.

Urahara whistled lowly. "(You know, that ability never ceases to amaze me,)" he said conversationally, propping Moody up against the wall. A flash of light and puff of smoke later he stood, putting the kikanshinki back inside his coat. "(That should just about cover it. How long until Ichigo-kun wakes up?)" he asked.

Shirosaki shrugged. "(Dunno, 'e's not lettin' me in at the moment.)" He paused for a second, his eyes unfocused, before continuing, "(I think Zangetsu-san's keepin' 'im from 'avin' a breakdown.)"

"(Not surprising, really,)" Urahara said quietly. "(After seeing… yare, yare. You've never really gotten over that, have you? Either of you.)"

The Hollow's eyes flashed dangerously. "(Ya don' jus' 'get over' shit like that, geta-boushi.)" After a minute he sighed. "(We should go. Can ya take care o' the mess 'ere?)"

Urahara looked scandalized. "(You doubt my abilities? I've been cleaning up after you two for years now, of course I can!)" His smile vanished. "(Look after yourselves, alright?)" he murmured softly. "(Both of you.)"

"(…It ain't me ya gotta be worried 'bout, geta-boushi.)"

-0-

The clouds were dark and heavy with rain when he appeared in the sideways world.

Ichigo was a short ways away from the building they'd unofficially designated as the 'arrival spot,' legs dangling over the edge of the skyscraper and out into the black infinity, hair and robe plastered down to his skin in the wake of the massive downpour; a fine, chill mist still drizzled down from the sky. Zangetsu stood beside his Shinigami wielder, his expression unusually unreadable, even by the stoic zanpakutou's standards.

"Daijoubu?" Shiro asked quietly.

Ichigo nodded slowly. "…Aa. Is everyone alright?"

"Urahara's takin' care of 'em. Wiped their mem'ries. An' 'e put up a barrier on the stairs, so nobody downstairs noticed a thin'. Everythin's been taken care o'."

"Good." After a pause, Ichigo said, "…What was that thing?"

The Hollow frowned, trying to remember. "A boggart, I think," he answered after a minute. "Remember 'em? Came 'cross 'em when we were researchin' the sombras."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a moment before he nodded. "…Aa, I do." His forehead creased in confusion. "They didn't seem so… the description said they could only maintain one simple illusion at a time. So how…?"

Shiro shrugged. He wasn't particularly concerned with the boggart's mysterious power increase at the moment – he was just grateful that the Shinigami had calmed down enough to hold rational conversation. When the boggart had taken… _that_ form, Ichigo's mind had gone completely into lockdown; Shiro had yelled and screamed at him for several long, incredibly tense minutes before he'd finally broken through the barrier Ichigo had placed over the surface consciousness and out into the outside world.

Ichigo hadn't blocked him out like that since before… well, not in a long, long time. Shiro had been momentarily terrified that the Shinigami would lock him away again, like he had when the Vaizards had taught him how to control his 'inner Hollow.' It had only been later, during another time of crisis, that they had figured out that Shirosaki Anzu was _nothing_ like the mindless Hollows that had been grafted onto Hirako's and the others' souls; that he was his own being, separate from but still connected to the Shinigami half of their shared soul.

It was a stupid, irrational fear – but then again, fears were rarely logical.

"Perhaps the boggart's power is drawn from the intensity of the victim's fear," Zangetsu suggested, nearly making the Hollow jump out of his skin. "Consider it a warning. Do not let your fear paralyze you as it did, Ichigo; and also not to allow your anger and hate consume you as it very nearly did, Anzu," he added, glancing pointedly in Shiro's direction.

Shiro frowned. "Ya suggestin' I try an' _not_ 'ate that thin'?" he demanded.

"No. Anger and hate are useful emotions when channeled correctly; but not at the expense of those around you." The zanpakutou's tone was not accusing or even reprimanding, but the Hollow still found himself scowling embarrassedly. As much as he appreciated the zanpakutou, his silent, unflappable nature meant he was fairly easy to overlook in the grand scheme of their shared mindscape, as both Shiro and Ichigo had louder, considerably more dynamic personalities. Still, he rarely dispensed advice that was unrelated to war, and it would be stupid to ignore his guidance. Zangetsu was wiser than the both of them put together.

"That makes sense," Ichigo agreed. "But still… I don't understand how it knew…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We should get some rest, we've a long day ahead of us, and it'll be morning soon."

"Hn, guess so." The statement was punctuated with a yawn. "Ya good fer tomorrow, then?"

"Aa." Ichigo was silent for a long while before he spoke again. "…And what about you?"

The Hollow shrugged again. "Ya know me, King. I always did deal with this kinda shit better'n you."

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Your coping mechanisms leave something to be desired, Shiro."

"I'll 'ave ya know that beatin' stuff ta a bloody pulp is 'ighly therapeutic," he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and trying (and failing) to look dignified.

"…Yeah." Ichigo smirked faintly before the smile slid off his face. "…Sorry I shut you out like that. It's just… seeing _that thing_ again, after all this time… It was… unexpected."

Shiro snorted softly. "That's th' understatemen' o' the century."

"…Do you think we can ever make things right again?" Ichigo asked quietly, staring off into the sky. "Can we ever make it up to all those people? What we did… All those lives we ruined… Even if we weren't responsible… It's still our fault, though, isn't it?"

The Hollow was silent for a long moment. "It ain' exactly somethin' we can jus'… _fix_ like that. Even with the magic twigs." He sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "What's done is done. Whether it was our fault er not, we gotta live with it. Mebbe we can put thin's right again, mebbe we can't, I dunno." His expression hardened. "But that sure as 'ell don' mean we can't try."

Ichigo didn't reply.

Shiro sighed again. "…Get some sleep, Ichigo. Me an' Zangetsu-san'll keep the nightmares at bay."

"…Arigatou."

-0-

Harry woke with a start the next morning with a start, as completely and suddenly as though someone had dumped a bucket of icy water over his head. He laid in the patch of sunlight filtering in through the grimy window for several minutes, thinking. What had happened last night? He remembered the party, and Kingsley talking to Lupin about Dumbledore's faith in him (or lack thereof), and then Moody had showed him that photograph, and he'd seen his parents with Wormtail, and then something about the drawing room, and Mrs. Weasley had been crying, and…

…And then what? Try as Harry might, he could remember nothing past seeing Mrs. Weasley sobbing over Ron's dead body. Everything after that was a blank. He knew something _must_ have happened after that – he'd ended up in his bed _somehow_, after all – but what it could have been… he had no idea.

Someone knocked on the door and Ron poked his head in. "Oh good, you're awake. Hurry up, Mum's gone ballistic, says we're going to miss the train…"

All thoughts of his mysterious memory problems vanished as Harry jumped out of bed in an instant, throwing on a pair of Dudley's old jeans and last year's Christmas sweater from the Weasleys. He briefly debated running a comb through his hair, but quickly decided it wasn't worth the effort and hurried down the stairs. The hallway below was engulfed in absolute chaos: Mrs. Weasley was shouting herself hoarse at Fred and George, who had apparently enchanted several trunks to fly rather than carry them themselves, which had inadvertently knocked Ginny down several flights of stairs.

"Ginny alright?" he asked Ron, coming to stand by him in the hallway, well beyond the range of Mrs. Weasley's wrath.

"Yeah, she's fine. Mr. Urahara took care of her," he replied, wrestling with his owl Pigwidgeon to try and stuff the excitable bird back in its cage. "Patched her up real quick. But now Moody's been complaining 'bout how we can't leave without some bloke named Podmore, otherwise the guard'll be one short."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "We have to go to King's Cross with a _guard_?" He shook his head. "I thought Voldemort was trying to lay low, or are you telling me he's going to come jumping out from behind a dustbin and try to do me in?"

"Yeah, well – it's Moody, mate. Can't really argue with him, can you?" Ron shrugged. "I reckon Mr. Urahara volunteered to come if Podmore doesn't show, but we're definitely missing the train _again_ if we don't leave soon."

"And this time there's no flying car," Harry muttered.

"What's this about a flying car?" Ichigo asked tiredly, carrying one of the massive trunks down the hall as though it were light as a feather. He looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep last night; dark rings circled his eyes and his shirt was wrinkled, as though he'd fallen asleep wearing it.

"Er… bit of a long story," Harry said. "Back in second year we missed the train by accident, and well… we kind of, um… _flewMrWeasley'scartoHogwarts_."

Ichigo frowned. "…since when can cars fly?"

"They can't," Ron muttered embarrassedly. "It was kind of a… special circumstance, you know."

"Ah." The Shinigami glanced back down the hall. "When are we leaving?"

"Now," Mrs. Weasley snapped, striding past the empty space where Mrs. Black's portrait used to be. "Harry, you and Ichigo are coming with me and Tonks. Ron, you're with Remus and Mr. Urahara… Leave your trunks and owls, Alastor's handling the luggage – and – oh for _heaven's sake_, Sirius, Dumbledore said _no_!" she said exasperatedly as a large black dog came bounding down the stairs. The dog fixed her with a very sad expression and she sighed. "Merlin, we don't have time for this… honestly. Well, on your own head be it! Let's go, Harry."

The dog let out a great bark of happiness and ran through the open door and out into the park, wagging its tail excitedly. Harry shot an amused glance at Ichigo, who shrugged, before they followed.

"Where's Tonks?" Harry wondered aloud, looking up and down the street for any sign of the pink-haired auror.

"Over there, I think," Ichigo said, gesturing toward a distant corner.

Mrs. Weasley nodded stiffly, averting her eyes from the sight of the black dog trotting happily beside Harry.

An elderly woman with her grey hair curled in tight ringlets smiled and waved as they approached. "Wotcher, Harry," she said cheerfully. She glanced at Mrs. Weasley. "Better hurry up, hadn't we, Molly?" she asked, glancing at her watch. It had twelve hands.

"I know," Mrs. Weasley groaned, taking off down the street. "But Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis… I wish Arthur could have gotten Ministry cars for us again, but Fudge won't let him borrow so much as an empty inkbottle these days… _How_ muggles can stand travelling without magic, I have no idea…"

The dog let out a great, joyous bark and gamboled through the park, snapping at pigeons, Mrs. Weasley's ankles, and chasing its own tail.

Harry couldn't help but laugh, and even Ichigo's usual scowl looked amused at the dog's antics. Sirius had been trapped inside for a very, very long time. The dog barked again and gave then a happy smile, its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. The corners of Tonks' mouth twitched upward, but Mrs. Weasley frowned disapprovingly.

Twenty minutes and several scared cats and pigeons later, the group arrived at King's Cross station. Mrs. Weasley glanced around nervously. "I hope the others made it in time," she muttered, eyeing the clock overhead. "Well, best get onto the platform… Ichigo, you go first."

"Platform?" he repeated, looking around. The ticket they'd included in the paperwork from Hogwarts said the train would leave from 'Platform Nine and Three-Quarters' at eleven, but there was nothing at all between platforms nine and ten except the barrier. "Ano… _what_ platform?"

"Oh, of course – it's right past the barrier, just go straight on through."

Ichigo stared.

"Go on. Best do it at a run if you're nervous."

He sighed and shook his head. He thought he had seen everything – ghosts, undead monsters, talking cats, the _gates_ _of_ _Heaven_ _and_ _Hell_ _themselves_ – but being asked to run straight at a very solid-looking wall was a bit much. Still, given the moving portraits and pocket dimension of Grimmauld Place, it shouldn't have been that surprising. If he concentrated he could feel a heavy reiryoku residue placed over the barrier, hiding whatever was behind it from view. Maybe whatever spell it was hidden under was based on the same principle as Kyokko, in which case it would be fairly easy to break… if he had to.

…Not that that was necessarily the best idea. He had a sneaking suspicion that the wizards would _not_ appreciate him ripping down the wards that separated them from the rest of the human population.

He leaned causally against the barrier and felt himself slip through with an odd _squelch_ing sensation. A second later he found himself on an entirely different platform than the one he had just left. The barrier had been replaced with a wrought iron gate with the words 'Platform Nine and Three-Quarters' in curling script, and instead of the sleek bullet trains on the muggle side of the station, a scarlet steam engine stood waiting, spewing out clouds of sooty smoke over the milling passengers and their parents.

The barrier _squelch_ed again and Harry appeared beside him, smiling broadly. Several people waved at him, including a tall, dreadlocked boy who called, "Nice dog, Harry!"

"Thanks, Lee!" Harry called back. Sirius wagged his tail happily.

Mrs. Weasley breathed a sigh of relief as another figure limped through the archway, wearing a porter's cap pulled low over his face and pushing a cart full of trunks. "Oh, there's Alastor – thank goodness…"

"All clear," he muttered as he approached. "Don't think we were followed. The others here yet?"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "No, it's just us so far…"

A few moments later Ron and Hermione appeared through the gate, followed closely by Lupin and Urahara. Being the physically strongest members of the assembled group, both Shinigami were immediately drafted into unloading the luggage off Moody's cart. They had just about finished when Fred, George, and Ginny turned up with Mr. Weasley.

"No trouble?" growled Moody.

"No," Mr. Weasley replied.

Moody grunted. "Well, I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore. That's the second time he's not turned up in a week… getting as unreliable as Mundungus, he is…"

A whistle sounded, and Mrs. Weasley herded them all towards the train. "Do look after yourselves," she said. "Be careful."

"Keep your heads down and your eyes peeled," Moody advised. "And don't forget, all of you – careful what you put in writing. If there's any doubt, don't write it down at all."

Tonks – who had long since reverted to her usual pink-haired self – smiled and hugged Hermione and Ginny. "It was lovely meeting you all. We'll see you soon, I expect."

The whistle sounded again. "Quick, quick," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, hugging them at random, "Take care… be good… if you've forgotten anything we'll send it along… onto the train now, hurry…"

For one brief moment, the great black dog that was Sirius reared up onto its hind legs and placed its paws onto Harry's shoulder. A split second later Mrs. Weasley had shoved the dark-haired teenager away, whispering harshly, "Oh for heaven's sake, act more like a _dog_, Sirius!"

Harry grinned. "See you!" he called, leaning out the window. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all waved beside him.

Urahara produced a fan from nowhere. "(Ne, Ichi-kun!)"

"(Nanda yo?)" he called back as the train began to move.

"(Juushirou-kun says that 'even if you're on extended leave, he still expects you to have everything signed _and co-signed_ on time—)'"

"(Nani!)"

"(—so I called Ulquiorra-san and he told me he'll be forwarding the paperwork on Monday!)"

"(DAMMIT, URAHARA!)"

The old juunibantai captain just stood and waved, already out of hearing range until the train rounded a corner and he disappeared from sight.

Still grumbling about insane shopkeepers and their infuriating schemes, Ichigo pulled his head back inside the carriage.

"He shouldn't have come," Hermione murmured, looking worried.

"Who, Si – Snuffles?" Ron asked. "Lighten up, Hermione. Poor bloke hasn't seen daylight in months."

"True that, little brother," George agreed. He clapped his hands together in a businesslike manner. "Well, can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you all later." With that, they took off down the train, their trunks along floating behind them.

"Shall we go and find a compartment, then?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione once the twins had disappeared.

The pair exchanged nervous glances. "Er…"

"We're – we – well, the thing is," Hermione said hesitantly, "Ron and I – we're supposed to go to the prefects' carriage. I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey," she continued quickly, seeing Harry's crestfallen expression, "But our letters said we were supposed to get our instructions from the Head Boy and Girl, and then patrol the corridor from time to time."

Harry blinked. "Oh. I – well, I guess we'll meet up later, then." He sounded oddly disappointed.

Ron nodded vigorously. "Yeah, definitely." He fidgeted awkwardly with a hole in the sleeve of his sweater. "It's a pain having to go, though – I'm not enjoying this, I'm not _Percy_—"

"I know you're not," Harry laughed. "So… see you later."

"Yeah."

"Good luck," Ichigo called after them as Ron and Hermione took off down the corridor, trunks and a squirming Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon in tow.

Trees and houses blurred past the window as the train continued to pick up speed. Ginny nudged Harry in the side. "Come on, if we hurry we can save them seats."

Harry nodded stiffly. It was odd, to be travelling the Hogwarts express without Ron, he thought as he headed off down the hall after the other two. All the compartments seemed to be already occupied by students, all of whom stared open-eyed at Harry, pointing and whispering to their neighbors as they passed. After the third or so carriage, he suddenly remembered that the _Daily Prophet_ had been telling its readers what a lying, fame-seeking showoff he was all summer. He wondered bitterly if the people now staring at him had believed the stories.

In the last compartment they found a round-faced boy, his face shining with sweat as he struggled to pull his trunk along and maintain his grip on the squirming toad in his hand.

"Hi, Harry," he said, sounding cheerful despite his exertions. "Hi, Ginny… Everywhere's full, I can't find a seat…" He trailed off and blinked several times, apparently finally noticing the Shinigami lugging the trunks. "Oh… um, hello…"

Ginny ignored him and squeezed past to peer through the glass door of the lone compartment at the end of the train. "What _are_ you talking about, Neville? There's only Looney Lovegood in there—"

The boy – Neville, apparently – muttered something about not wanting to disturb anyone.

The youngest Weasley laughed. "Don't be silly, she's alright." She slid the door open without any hesitation. "Hi, Luna. Is it okay if we take these seats?"

The girl's wide, silvery eyes roved across the four teenagers in the hallway for a moment before she nodded.

"Thanks," Ginny said brightly. She motioned for the three boys to follow her.

The instant Ichigo stepped into the compartment, he did a double take. "_You_!"

The girl blinked. "Oh, hello Mr. Thanatos. I wasn't expecting to see you here…"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "You two know each other?"

"We met at the Magical Menagerie," Luna replied dreamily. "Though I don't believe we were properly introduced at the time… _You're_ Harry Potter," she added, staring at Harry.

Said teen spluttered for a moment. "I know I am."

Neville chuckled slightly at Harry's awkward expression while Ichigo hefted the trunks into the overhead. Luna turned her pale eyes on him instead. "And I don't know who you are…"

"Er – I'm nobody," he muttered.

Ginny sent him a sharp glare. "No you're not. Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood. Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw—"

"_Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure_," Luna interjected in a sing-song voice.

"—And that bloke loading the trunks is Ichigo. He's a transfer student."

"Yo," the Shinigami said by way of greeting, plopping down in the empty space across from Luna, who gave him a brief glance before returning to her upside-down magazine, _The Quibbler_. He ignored her, instead choosing to lean back in his seat and close his eyes tiredly.

Neville looked at him curiously. "You're transferring to Hogwarts? From where?"

The Shinigami cracked open one eye, and the round-faced boy shrank back at the irritated scowl. "Japan. Study abroad program," he said shortly. "It's only for a year, then it's back to Seireitei."

"Oh…" Neville said, sounding uncertain. He turned to Harry and Ginny. "Hey, guess what I got for my birthday?"

"Another Remembrall?" Harry guessed, remembering the marble-like device Neville's grandmother had sent him back in first year and a futile attempt to improve Neville's abysmal memory.

"Well, I could do with one, I lost the old one ages ago… But no, look at this…" With the hand not busy keeping a hold on the squirming Trevor the Toad, he rummaged around in the schoolbag near his feet and pulled out what appeared to be some sort of small, lumpy gray cactus, except it was covered in some weird sort of pustules rather than needles. It was pulsating slightly, giving it the distinct look of some diseased internal organ – or one of the more unfortunate victims of Kurotsuchi's lab. "_Mimbulus mimbletonia_," he said proudly. "My great-uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. It's really, _really_ rare. I don't know if there's one in the greenhouses of Hogwarts, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout… I'm going to see if I can breed from it."

Harry stared at the thing. "Right…" Really, he knew Neville's favorite subject was Herbology, but could not for the life of him figure out what was so great about this stunted little cactus. "Does it – er – do anything?" he asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Neville beamed. "Oh yeah, loads of stuff – hold Trevor for me…" he dumped the toad into Harry's lap and took a quill from his bag. Luna's protuberant eyes could be seen over the top of her magazine, watching what Neville was doing. Tongue between his teeth, Neville held the _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ up to his face, aimed the quill, and gave the plant a sharp, precise jab.

Liquid squirted from every boil on the plant. Dark, putrid jets of the stuff poured from the little plant in Neville's hand, coating the entire compartment in a thick paste that smelled like some horrible combination of bad eggs, rotting meat, and rancid manure. Harry and Neville were the worst off; Harry because both his hands had been occupied keeping a firm grip on escape-prone Trevor, and Neville because he'd been so close to the thing when it went off.

"S-Sorry," he spluttered, attempting to wipe the stuff out of his eyes. "I've n-never done that before… didn't realize it would be so… Don't worry though, Stinksap's not poisonous," he added nervously as Harry spat out a mouthful of the foul sap.

Ichigo grunted. "Just don't do it again," he said, wiping the thick liquid out of his hair. "I see why it's called 'Stinksap'… che, kore wa kirai da…" he muttered under his breath. His reiatsu flared slightly, sending the Stinksap flying in every direction.

The compartment door opened. "Hello Harry… um… bad time…? Eep!"

Harry hurriedly wiped the lenses of his glasses hurriedly with his toad-free hand. A very pretty girl with long, shiny black hair staggered away from the doorway, having just gotten a face full of the sticky sap.

"Cho! On no – I'm so sorry – are you alright?" he asked hurriedly, helping the girl to her feet.

"Y-yes," she said distractedly. "What—?"

Ginny pulled her wand out her pocket. "It's Stinkstap. Here – _Scourgify_!" she said, flicking her wand. The Stinksap vanished at once.

"Thanks," Cho muttered, getting to her feet. "Um… I… Well… just thought I'd say hello – so… um… Bye, then…"

She closed the door behind her. Harry sighed. He would _much_ rather Cho had walked in on him sitting with a group of very cool people laughing at a joke he had just told; he would not have chosen to be sitting with Neville and Looney Lovegood, clutching a toad and covered in Stinksap.

Even worse that Ichigo had chosen _that_ _precise_ _moment_ to rid himself of the gooey substance.

"Sorry," Neville repeated in a small voice.

Harry groaned and sank deeper into the cushion. Ginny patted his arm bracingly.

Some time later, the door slid open and a plump, smiling witch poked her head in. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Harry and Neville jumped to their feet, returning a few minutes later with their arms laden with sweets. Harry dumped his load onto an empty seat and immediately grabbed a Chocolate Frog off the top of the pile. "Chocolate Frog?" he asked, tossing one in the Shinigami's direction.

Ichigo caught it, his expression skeptical. The brown amphibian he could see squirming through the front panel certainly _looked_ real… "It's not an _actual _frog, is it?"

Harry, who was in the process of unwrapping his own frog, looked up. "What? No, of course not."

The Shinigami watched the frog in Harry's hand squirm desperately. He shuddered when the younger teen bit off the frog's head and set his own candy amphibian back on the seat. "No thanks."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. "Suit yourself. You want anything?"

"Preferably something _not_ alive," Ichigo muttered, instead selecting a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. They seemed harmless enough…

The compartment door slid open again and Ron and Hermione entered, accompanied by Crookshanks and a shrilly-hooting Pigwidgeon. Ron hastily stuffed his owl up beside Hedwig's cage, grabbed a Frog from Harry, and plopped down in the nearest seat. He ripped open the wrapper, bit off the head (Ichigo winced again) and sank back in his seat, letting out a great heavy sigh as though he had had a very tiring morning.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "Long day?" he asked archly.

Ron groaned in response. Hermione pursed her lips disapprovingly. "Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each House," she said, sitting down in the last empty seat beside Ginny. "Boy and girl from each."

"And guess who's a Slytherin prefect?" Ron asked bitterly.

"Malfoy," replied Harry and Ginny at once. "Damn it."

"'Course," Ron said, wolfing down the rest of his frog.

"And that complete cow, Pansy Parkinson," Hermione added. "How on Earth she got to be a prefect when she's thicker than a concussed _troll_…"

Ichigo frowned thoughtfully. "Malfoy… Malfoy…" he muttered, mostly to himself. "Where have I heard that name before…?"

"You met his dad at the Ministry," Harry told him. "Lucius Malfoy. Remember?"

Ichigo grimaced. "Him? Che. I take it the son's as much of a bastard as the father?"

Ron snorted. "Yeah, that's putting it mildly. Right old git, he is." Harry, Ginny, and Neville all nodded in agreement.

"_Language_, Ronald," Hermione said disapprovingly, though she too seemed to be suppressing a smile.

"Why bother?" Ron said dully, taking a Pumpkin Pastie. "We all know he deserves it."

"Who are the other prefects?" Harry asked quickly, wanting to avoid another of Ron and Hermione's arguments.

"Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot from Hufflepuff, and Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw," Hermione answered. "We're supposed to patrol the corridors every now and then…"

Ron gave a feral grin. "And we're allowed to give out punishments if people are misbehaving. Oh, I can't _wait_ to get Crabbe and Goyle for something…"

"You're not supposed to abuse your position," Hermione hissed.

The redhead rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because _Malfoy_ won't abuse it _at_ _all_," he said sarcastically.

"So you're going to descend to his level?"

"Of course not," Ron said, sounding offended. "I'm just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine. I think I'll make Goyle do lines. It'll kill him, he _hates_ writing," he continued happily. "Let's see—" he lowered his voice in a poor imitation of a caveman's, screwed up his face in concentration, and mimed writing in the air, "_I… must… not… look… like… a… baboon's… backside…_"

Everybody laughed, even Ichigo – but nobody laughed as hard as Luna Lovegood. She let out a scream of mirth that had the animals stirring in their cages and Crookshanks the cat clawing his way into the luggage rack overhead.

"That was _funny_," she said, her protuberant eyes swimming with unshed tears as she gasped for breath, staring at Ron.

Ron stared back, looking utterly bewildered. "Er – are you taking the mickey?" he asked.

Luna simply shook her head, still giggling about 'baboon's backsides' to herself and holding a stitch in her side.

Ichigo shook his head, still smirking in amusement. "You better watch it, Weasley. I've got a friend who's a baboon."

Ron raised an eyebrow, his grin fading slightly. "Yeah? And what would he say?"

Ichigo pretended to think for a moment before shrugging. "He'd probably tell you to 'go fuck yourself,'" he said matter-of-factly. "Then he'd laugh like it was the best joke in the universe."

Luna burst into laughter again, clutching at her ribs. The magazine she'd been reading slipped out of her grasp, slid across her lap and onto the floor. One of the headlines caught Harry's eye, and he bent down quickly to pick it up.

"Can I have a look at this?" he asked eagerly. Luna nodded, and Harry opened the magazine, flipping to the article that had caught his attention:

_SIRIUS: Black As He's Painted?  
Notorious Mass Murderer or Innocent Singing Sensation?_

He had to reread the title several times to ensure he'd read it right. Since when had _Sirius_ been a singing sensation? True, he knew little of his godfather's past aside from several stories he'd heard from him and Lupin about their Marauder years, and he had no idea _what_ Sirius had done for a living, but he couldn't imagine it as being a rock star…

The article that followed was just as ludicrous as the headline itself. He leafed through the rest of the magazine in the vain hope that it was one of those joke magazines… no such luck. An article about Fudge having goblins cooked in pies; one on how the Tutshill Tornadoes were winning the Quidditch League through a combination of blackmail, illegal broom-tampering, and demonic ritual; an interview with a wizard who claimed to have flown to the moon on an old Cleansweep Two and returned with a bag of moonfrogs to prove it; a series of ancient runes that revealed a spell to turn your enemies' ears into kumquats if read upside down – which at least explained the way Luna had been reading the magazine…

In fact, compared to the rest of the articles in _The Quibbler_, the idea that Sirius Black might really be the lead singer of The Hobgoblins was actually quite reasonable.

"Anything good in there?" Ron asked as Harry closed the magazine.

Hermione gave an indignant snort. "Of course not. _The Quibbler_'s rubbish, everyone knows that."

"Excuse me," said Luna loudly, no longer laughing. "My father's the editor." She snatched the magazine back with hardly another word and immediately buried herself in the ancient rune article.

Hermione flushed a bright pink. "I – oh…" she stuttered, looking rather embarrassed. "Well… it's got some interesting… it has a – er, _unique_ perspective… I mean, it's quite—"

The compartment door slid open for a third time, revealing a smirking blonde wizard with a pale, pointed face who bore a distinct resemblance to the man from the Ministry. _That must be Malfoy junior, then,_ Ichigo thought. He was flanked on either side by two hulking boys who, he noted, bore greater resemblance to the average gorilla than the average human being; almost like body guards, in fact.

"What?" Harry snapped, glaring at the middle teen.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention," he drawled, his smirk widening. "You see, _I_, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that _I_, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah, but you, unlike me, are a git," Harry spat. "So get out and leave us alone."

The blonde's self-satisfied smile faltered before his lip curled derisively. "Tell me, Potter, how does it feel to be second best to Weasley?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione said sharply.

"Oh, I seem to have touched a nerve," he sneered. He glanced around the compartment. "And who have we here?" he asked, eyeing Ichigo's orange hair with disdain. "Yet another Weasley? That's what, number eight? There's no freckles, though; I wonder, what _has_ dear old mummy been up to while Daddy's at work…?"

Ron jumped to his feet, his ears beet-red. His fist was already swinging through the air when a hand latched onto his wrist, halting Ron's fist inches from Malfoy's nose. Ron rounded on the hand's owner in fury, but the protests died on his lips at the dark look on the Shinigami's face. A heavy, almost malevolent aura filled the compartment as Ichigo rose slowly up off his seat. The blonde's cocky smirk faltered, and his two goons shifted uncertainly.

"Urusai," Ichigo growled. "I don't even want to _know_ who the hell you are. Get out. _Now_."

Malfoy bristled. "How _dare_ you, do you _know_ who I _am_—"

"I don't give a _damn_ who the hell you are. _Get_ _out_." His tone left no room for argument. "Or I will _make_ you."

A look of realization crossed Malfoy's face. "Ah… you must be Kurosaki. My father told me about you." He eyed the Shinigami critically, then stuck out his hand in a gesture of welcome. "My sincerest apologies," he said, in a tone that indicated anything but, "For my earlier comments. I believe we got off on the wrong foot, my name's Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prefect. I think you'll find, while you're here, that some friends are better to have than others; I can help you there, if you like."

Ichigo did not take the proffered hand. "I think you'll also find," he said coldly, "That I _really_ don't give a damn. _Out_."

Malfoy's hand dropped back to his side with all the elegance of a limp fish. "I see. So, you're in with _that_ lot, are you? …I see." He turned back to Harry and the others. "Well, you better watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be _dogging_ your footsteps in case you step out of line."

"Get out!" Hermione said sharply, standing up.

Ichigo cracked his knuckles menacingly. "You know, I don't usually make a habit of throwing the first punch," he said lightly, advancing on Malfoy and his goons, "But I think I can make an exception for you."

In less than a second, he cracked Crabbe's and Goyle's skulls together with a resounding _SMACK_ and knocked their legs out from under them, sending them crashing to the floor in an undignified heap. He caught the now bodyguard-less Malfoy and twisted his arm around at a dangerous angle. "You were just thinking of leaving, weren't you?"

Malfoy glared mutinously, then let out a muffled yelp of pain when Ichigo pulled the arm back even farther. Something inside the shoulder popped ominously. "Y-yes…" he ground out.

"Good." There was another sickening _crack_ as he unceremoniously shoved the blonde's shoulder back into place. "Now get out. Leave. _Now_."

Malfoy withdrew at once, clutching his injured shoulder, his two cronies following closely behind.

Ichigo slammed the door shut after them and plopped down on an empty seat, exchanging worried looks with Harry and Hermione – because he, like they, had realized just exactly _what_ Malfoy had said and been just as disturbed by it.

Ron, however, seemed oblivious as he turned to Ichigo, his eyes wide. "That. Was. _Awesome_!" he nearly shouted, grinning broadly. "Can you teach me how to—?"

"No."

Ron sulked for the rest of the trip.

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_shine: imperative form of the verb 'shinu', 'to die'_

_wari (ne): shortened form of wariwari, an apology (less formal than gomen [ne])_

_daijoubu: a way of asking if someone is alright; without a question mark, indicates that someone is alright_

_kirai: disgusting, nasty, etc._

_da: informal version of 'desu'; has the same function_

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_Greetings to you all._

_Here is chapter twelve. I can only pray it has lived up to everyone's expectations._

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Furionknight, Yami-no-Tamashii, Sofia10Soccer (x4), Taio Kaiona, One of the Colorless, Obiki Doragon, whitespiderlilly, SilverFlameoftheWindScar, writertron, Sadie*spotty, mist shadow, Jiyle, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, dragonXXforte, xXSweetestXAngelXNightmareXx , mauralucky7, thedisturbed1, FanFictionFan345, willi890, Basia Orci, animelover1993, Fantasy's Reflection, Escapedslave99, Shahar Mystral, DarkKnightOfShadows, Kisa Teh Puppy, Lady Drama, Jiuriana-Chan, JessieKage, TyKaXLoves, Eternal Love's Eclipse, Sonnartog, VizardsFTW01, staidwaters, Ko-pia, Lady Red 88, killerpoison, Sakurai Haruka, Nefarious Seraph 13, Kayla, bLOODmOON (x2), Esprgirl, Sm1tZ, Annoying Little Twit, Lunar Tokala, StretchableWings, The REEk, mapleroxy, and Ri696q for their lovely reviews. You all have my deepest thanks._

_I anticipate getting a lot of complaints about the first section of this chapter, but I do NOT plan on providing translations for it. This is for three reasons: 1) The section is written from Harry's perspective, and as he understands neither Japanese nor Spanish, it must be left un-understood, 2) It is a large amount of text and I am fundamentally lazy, and 3) If I wanted it to be readily understood, I would have written it as such._

_If this upsets you, I'm sorry. I tried to make it so that most of the conversation could be inferred from the action, but I don't know how well that worked. In any event, there is really only one sentence in there that is significant to the plot. Guess which one._

_On the bright side, I don't anticipate using large amounts of non-English text again. It's a pain, both for me to write (and double/triple/quadruple check) and for you to read._

_That being said, please let me know if it sounds awkward, weird or is completely wrong. I gave it my best shot, but as I have never in my life studied Japanese, it is almost assuredly wrong. If you know/have learned that language, please let me know ASAP and I will happily change it._

_Chapter sixteen is not quite finished, but it probably will be in the next week, and seeing as I will be out of town, I thought it best to post this now before I leave. With luck, I'll be able to upload chapter thirteen some time around the end of the year. Hopefully._

_Don't count on it, though._

_I think that about wraps it up for this chapter. Please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love and so long for now,  
Nesarna  
11/20/10_

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_PS. A plate of virtual cookies goes out to StretchableWings for being the 300th reviewer! Thank you and enjoy!_

_Thanks again - Nesarna 11/20/10_

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_PPS. This story reached the 25,000-hit mark last chapter. Thank you to everyone who read! I hope you will continue to enjoy this story into the foreseeable future._

_Thanks again - Nesarna 11/20/10_


	13. That Which Defines Us

_**DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done solely for my own entertainment purposes.**_

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine._**

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EDIT: Full version of this chapter uploaded on 2/26/11.

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Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Thirteenth

-0-

It was dark by the time the train arrived in Hogsmeade Station.

Ichigo adjusted his new tie uncomfortably; he'd never been fond of the things back in high school either, but he figured he'd at least wait until the first day to break the school dress code. He'd nearly been strangled often enough that he didn't like _anything_ around his throat, required or not. Ron and Hermione had already left to supervise the hustle and bustle of the other students organizing their luggage and pets.

As the five of them shuffled out of the compartment, feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces, a sharp voice called over the crowd, "First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!" Harry squinted in that direction and saw a sharp-chinned witch with her hair in tight ringlets motioning to a line of tiny first years.

"Where's Hagrid?" he wondered aloud.

"I don't know," Ginny said. "But we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door."

Harry flushed faintly. "Oh, yeah…" he glanced at Ichigo. "Do you know if you're supposed to take the carriages with us?" he asked.

The Shinigami shrugged, still attempting to loosen the restricting tie without actually taking it off. "The letter said something about going with the first years to be 'sorted,'" he replied. "I think this is where we split up."

Harry nodded. "See you later, then."

Ichigo waved vaguely off his shoulder and stalked over to where the eleven-year-olds were gathering. The gray-haired witch glared as he approached.

"This line is for first years only," she said sharply. "Second years and above are to take the carriages up to the castle—"

Ichigo grimaced. "I'm a transfer student. My letter said to come here."

She eyed him critically before nodding. "Very well. I am Professor Grubbly-Plank, the temporary Care of Magical Creatues instructor," she said crisply. "Welcome to Hogwarts. Is everyone here?" she asked the crowd at large. "Follow me, please!"

She led the new students down a narrow, winding path, a chill wind whispering through the pine trees on either side of the trail. The young students huddled together, keeping as far away as possible from the lone teenager in the group. Ichigo snorted softly to himself.

_You'd think I had a horrible, contagious, life-threatening disease or something_.

_Aa, well, ya do kinda stick out, King_, Shiro noted dully. _What with bein' a good 'alf-meter taller'n ev'rybody else…_

Ichigo scowled heavily, scaring a good number of the surrounding children. _Urusai_. He could practically _feel_ the Hollow's smirk. He cast around for a change in topic. _Look at how thick the trees are. Depending on how big the forest is, we could use it for sparring,_ he suggested.

_Mebbe,_ Shiro agreed. _'Cept I ain't supposed ta leave 'ere._ That last comment was accompanied by a wave of suppressed bitterness, which Ichigo chose to ignore for the time being.

_True_, he muttered. _We'll figure something out though. I refuse to skip out on training for a whole year. Grimmjow and Kenpachi would _kill_ us when we got back._

The Hollow shuddered. _Agreed._

A gasp went up from the front of the crowd as the group rounded another bend, and the path suddenly widened onto the edge of a massive black lake, its surface smooth as glass. Perched atop a mountain on the other side was a magnificient castle, towers and turrets outlined against the round moon and windows aglow like thousands of tiny, brilliant jewels.

_Impressive_, Shiro commented lightly. _Not as big as Las Noches or Seireitei, but… still. Sugoi._

Ichigo nodded silently.

"Everyone into the boats, please," the steely-haired woman called over the heads of the first years. "No more than four per boat!" She glanced at the Shinigami and motioned for him to come closer. "You'll be riding with me," she said briskly. "I don't think the first years will much appreciate having you in one of their boats."

Ichigo scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Ano… arigatou ne. I… don't get on that well with kids." _Except for Nel, but she doesn't really count._

"Yes, I did notice that," she said dryly, stepping into one of the boats. She turned back to the huddled first years. "Does everyone have a boat? Good. Well then – _forward_!"

At once the little fleet of boats took off across the lake; the ripples in their wake looked like liquid silver on the surface of the glassy lake under the light of the moon. Ichigo watched the castle approach, feeling something like anticipation mixed with a slight hint of nervousness start to churn in his stomach.

The mission had begun.

The night was completely silent save for the creak of the wooden boat, the faint rush of water across the bow and the whisper of wind through the pines. The little fleet took them closer and closer to the cliff on which the castle stood, through a curtain of ivy, down a dark tunnel that seemed to lead into the heart of the mountain itself, and into a small, rocky harbor, where Grubbly-Plank ordered everyone to follow her up the dank passageway and out onto the lawn before the castle. She threw one last cursory glance over the crowd to ensure that no one had been left behind, before mounting the stone steps and knocking three times on the castle's massive oak doors.

At once the doors flew open to reveal a rather stern-looking witch in emerald green robes, who Ichigo vaguely recognized from the one time they'd met back in August. _What was her name again…?_ She did a double-take at the sight of the teenager amidst the crowd of nervous children, but quickly composed herself.

"The first years, Professor McGongall," Grubbly-Plank said crisply.

_Ah. Convenient._

McGonagall nodded briskly. "Thank you, Wilhelmina. I will take them from here." She pulled the doors open wide. The entrance hall was massive – easily large enough to fit a decent-sized house inside with room to spare – and lit with flaming torches that cast a flickering light over the students. The green-robed witch led the students across the hall and into a small antechamber to the left of another set of oaken doors. Ichigo could feel the presence of hundreds of reiatsu signatures beyond them – the rest of the school must already have arrived before them.

Professor McGonagall turned on her heel to face the group. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she began. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony, because while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts…"

Ichigo tuned out the rest of her speech. It was nothing he had not already heard from Harry, Ron, and the others. The whole system seemed rather… _odd_ to him; it seemed to set up students with particular expectations and opportunities. '_Go to this house and you'll do this_' – Slytherin made Dark Wizards; Ravenclaw the inventors, theorists, and those whose jobs required technical expertise; Gryffindor produced Aurors and those with dangerous or otherwise hazardous occupations; and Hufflepuff the menial laborers.

There were exceptions, of course, but by and large that was the rule: that what house you were in determined the course of your career for the rest of your life, and that didn't sit well with Ichigo. He'd been told time and again over the years that _this_ or _that_ was beyond his ability to ever match; he'd proven those people wrong on nearly every occasion. First had been Byakuya and Renji, then Kariya, Grimmjow, Ulquiorra, Aizen… the list went on and on. Ichigo scoffed at the idea that _anything_ was predeterimed.

The notion had only been reinforced during his brief stay in the King's Realm. For people whose job it was to determine the fate of the world and all the people in it, the place was an organizational _nightmare_.

Hell, even _Shiro_ was better about filing his paperwork than most of the workers up there – and he didn't even do his half the time.

"…start the ceremony. Would everyone – with the exception of Mr. Kurosaki – please form a line and follow me," she said. The first years all huddled together in a rough line and, at McGonagall's instruction, marched into the hall.

"Ano – sensei—"

"The headmaster wishes to make an announcement before your Sorting," she told him. "Please wait _quietly_ until then."

He nodded and Professor McGonagall spun on her heel once again and followed the first years into the hall, Ichigo trailing along behind her.

-0-

Harry's eyes scanned the staff table as he sat down next to Ron and Hermione. He didn't want to worry them by telling the others that he and Looney Lovegood were sharing the same hallucination – if that was what it was – so he had kept his mouth shut about the strange horse-dragons pulling the carriages; besides which, there were far more serious matters at hand.

"Where's Hagrid?" Ron wondered aloud, apparently noticing the same thing as Harry. "He's not here…"

"I don't know," said Hermione thoughtfully, glancing over at the members of the staff.

"He can't have _left_," Ron reasoned, sounding anxious. "I mean, he _lives_ here…"

"Of course he hasn't," Harry said firmly.

Hermione looked worried. "You don't think he's… _hurt_, or anything, do you?" she asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so," he said, equally quietly. He lowered his voice even lower so Neville could not hear. "Maybe he's not back yet… you know, from that – er – _mission_ he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe… who's _that_?"

Harry and Ron followed where she was pointing up to the staff table. Harry glanced past Dumbledore sitting in his high-backed, golden chair in the middle and his eyes landed on the short witch talking in his ear. She wore her mousy brown hair in tight ringlets, in which she'd placed a truly awful sparkling pink Alice band, which perfectly matched the even-more-horrible fluffy cardigan she wore over her equally-frilly robes. Harry let out a startled gasp.

"It's that Umbridge woman!"

"Who?" asked Hermione, eyeing the woman with disgust.

"She was at my hearing. She works for Fudge!"

"Nice cardigan," Ron sniggered.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "She works for Fudge? What's she doing here, then?"

"Dunno…"

She scanned the staff table critically. "No, surely not…"

Harry did not understand what she was talking about, but before he had the opportunity to ask a door at the far end of the hall swung open and Professor McGonagall appeared, carrying a three-legged stool on which sat an ancient, dilapidated wizard's hat. A line of diminutive first-years crept in behind her, all of whom wore expressions of the utmost terror. She strode across the hall and placed the stool carefully down before the headmaster, then stood back.

The new students all waited with baited breath, their eyes fixed on the patched and frayed hat, their faces shining in the candlelight. A slight movement in the corner of his eye caught Harry's attention, and he spotted Ichigo sidle inside the Great Hall, shutting the door softly behind him. The Shinigami gave him an amused smirk before leaning against the wall beside the door and joining the rest of the school in watching the tattered hat.

A rip near the brim opened, and the hat burst into song.

"_In times of old when I was new  
__And Hogwarts barely started,  
__The founders of our noble school  
__Thought never to be parted:_

_United by a common goal,  
__The had the selfsame yearning,  
__To make the world's best magic school  
__And pass along their learning._

'_Together we'll build and teach!'  
__The four good friends decided;  
__And never did they ever dream that they  
__Might someday be divided,_

_For were there such friends anywere  
__As Slytherin and Gryffindor?  
__Unless it was the second pair  
__Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw._

_So how could it have gone so wrong?  
__How could such friendships fail?  
__Why, I was there and so can tell  
__The whole said, sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those  
__Whose ancestry is purest;'  
__Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose  
__Intelligence is surest.'_

_Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those  
__With brave deeds to their name;'  
__Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot,  
__And treat them just the same.'_

_These differences caused little strife  
__When first they came to light,  
__For each of the four founders had  
__A House in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted. So—  
__For instance, Slytherin  
__Took only pure-blood wizards  
__Of great cunning, just like him,_

_And only those of sharpest mind  
__Were taught by Ravenclaw,  
__While the bravest and the boldest  
__Went to daring Gryffindor._

_Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,  
__And taught them all she knew.  
__Thus the Houses and their founders  
__Retained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony  
__For several happy years,  
__But then dischord crept among us  
__Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The Houses that, like pillars four,  
__Had once held up our school,  
__Now turned upon each other and,  
__Divided, sought to rule._

_And for a while it seemed the school  
__Must meet an early end,  
__What with dueling and with fighting  
__And the clash of friend on friend._

_And at last there came a morning  
__When old Slytherin departed  
__And though the fighting then died out  
__He left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the Founders Four  
__Were whittled down to three  
__Have the Houses been united  
__As they once were meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here  
__And you all know the score:  
__I sort you into Houses  
__Because that is what I'm for._

_But this year I'll go further,  
__Listen closely to my song:  
__Though condemned I am to split you  
__Still I worry that it's wrong._

_Though I must fulfill my duty  
__And must quarter every year  
__Still I wonder whether Sorting  
__May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,  
__The warning history shows,  
__For our Hogwarts is in danger  
__From external, deadly foes._

_And we must unite inside her  
__Or we'll crumble from within.  
__I have told you, I have warned you…  
__Let the Sorting now begin."_

Applause broke out as the hat finished its song, though it was peppered, for the first time in Harry's memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging confused, sometimes worried remarks with their neighbors.

"Branched out a bit this year, hasn't it?" Ron commented lightly, his eyebrows raised.

Harry and Hermione nodded solemnly.

"I wonder if it's ever given out warnings before," wondered Hermione, sounding anxious.

"Yes, indeed," said a voice, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione's heads all whipped around to see Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, lean through Neville (who winced; the sensation was rather like suddenly being dunked in an ice bath), his expression one of concern. "The Hat feels honor-bound to give the school warnings whenever it feels—"

He broke off as Professor McGonagall coughed slightly into her fist, glaring out at the whispering students. Nick put a see-through finger to his lips and sat back up in his seat, hands folded neatly on the tabletop.

The last of the muttering died away and McGonagall flourished a long sheet of parchment in her hand.

"Abercrombie, Euan."

A tiny boy with thatched blond hair practically tripped out of line and put the hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The Hat seemed to consider for a moment before the rip near the brim opened again and it shouted, quite clearly, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindors burst into applause as Euan Abercrombie staggered to their table.

When the applause died down, McGonagall looked back at her list. "Anderson, Beverly."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Blishwick, Cassandra."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Carter, Donald."

"RAVENCLAW!"

And so it went. The long line of first years slowly thinned; in the pauses between names, Harry could hear Ron's stomach rumbling loudly. As "Zeller, Rose" scrambled off to the Hufflepuff table, Dumbledore got to his feet, beaming out at the assembled crowd. Somehow, despite his recent bitter feelings toward the aging headmaster, Harry couldn't help but relax in his presence – between Hagrid's unexpected absence, the sudden appearance of those weird, dragonish horses, and the inexplicable warning in the Hat's song, his long-anticipated return to Hogwarts had been disturbingly unsettling.

"To our newcomers," said Dumbledore in a ringing voice that echoed through the hall, "Welcome! To our old hands – welcome back. Now, before we begin our undoubtedly delicious feast, there is one last matter that needs to be taken care of." He cleared his throat. "It is my pleasure to announce that this year, Hogwarts will have the honor of hosting its first study abroad student in nearly three hundred years."

At once several cries of surprise and disbelief erupted from the crowd. Dumbledore held up a hand for quiet, and everyone fell silent at once.

"He is a student of Shinou Academy in Japan, and will be attending classes with our fifth year students for the duration of term. I expect you all to treat him with the utmost respect as a representative of his school and country." His eyes lingered a moment on the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy – still holding the injured shoulder pitifully – sat, glowering and whispering conspiratorially to those around him. "So, without further ado – please welcome Mr. Kurosaki of Karakura Town, Japan!"

Ichigo took that as his cue to come forward as the Hogwarts residents broke into polite applause. The students whispered loudly to their neighbors as he walked past, a few openly staring and pointing. The Shinigami ignored them easily; he was no stranger to the concept of a 'rumor mill,' being the focus of a number of (unpleasant) tales that circulated through Seireitei every few days. It seemed that every week someone else claimed to have uncovered evidence that he was secretly plotting to overthrow Central, subvert the economy with cheap Human World-made goods, replace Soul Society's entire sake supply with water, or some other such nonsense.

Bullshit, all of it.

He strode up to the front of the hall, swiveled on his heel and gave a short bow to the student body, then turned and did the same to the teachers and staff. "Thank you for allowing me to enter into this prestigious school," he said to Dumbledore. "I look forward to learning here, even if it is only for a short time."

The older man smiled and waved him off, eyes twinkling. "It is our pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts, Mr. Kurosaki. Now, Minerva if you would do the honors…"

McGonagall cleared her throat and brandished the roll of parchment. "Kurosaki, Ichigo."

Ichigo sat down on the stool and took the hat from Professor McGonagall, doing his best to ignore the awkwardness of the action. Talking to a _hat_, of all things…

_So… now what?_ he wondered after a moment.

_Oh, it's quite simple really,_ said a voice in his ear. _I take a look at what I find in here and – oh dear. Erm – please don't hurt me—_

_Boushi-san?_

_King._ This time it was the Hollow's voice. _Get yer ass in 'ere._

_Shiro? What— _But he didn't have a chance to finish his question, as he felt a very familiar tug on his mind and found himself falling into blackness, down, down…

-0-

The Hat hummed happily as it set about its work. The strange city it had found itself in was odd – gravity had somehow gotten turned on its head, which made the Hat vaguely wonder what had happened to the mindscape's owner to make it so messed up – but refreshing in its own sort of way. The sky overhead (on either side) was a clear and calming blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds that floated lazily on the breeze, and the glass on the windows of the countless skyscrapers sparkled and glittered in the sunlight. It was certainly a nice change from the countless muddy, indistinct minds it had visited over the centuries; the Hat normally only ever spoken to children, and their mindscapes were very rarely fully formed at the tender age of eleven or twelve.

Following the golden thread of the Legilimency spell Salazar had cast all those years ago, the Hat took off through the city. It was a bit difficult to navigate at first – some of the buildings had rather large gaps between them, and the Hat was not as young as it used to be – but the thread led it unerringly forward, through what appeared to be a business disctrict and toward a section that looked more residential. It waved idly to the Man in Black as it passed, who stared back impassively.

The Hat was used to such beings; it'd seen them often enough over the years, the strange sentinels that guarded the mindscapes. Every mind had one, but most were inactive, sleepy, lazy things who simply watched as the Hat went by. The mindkeepers always took different shapes – the Hat could recall with frightening clarity one incident five hundred years ago when the guardian had taken the form of a great crimson dragon – but this one seemed fairly normal, if unusually focused.

Only a few times had the Hat ever met a guardian who did more than simply stare at it as it passed, but none of those had been able to do anything to hinder its movement through the mindscape. It doubted the Man in Black would be any different.

It landed lightly on a fence in the residential area. Neat, flat-roofed blue houses lined the street for as far as the eye could see, each one fronted by a low stone wall, identical to the one the Hat was currently standing on. Black electrical wires criss-crossed through the sky, connecting the houses in a sort of maze – a natural defense, the Hat realized, against intruders such as itself. It shook its head. Old Slytherin had truly been a master Legilimens; his thread was designed to lead the Hat straight to where it needed to go, regardless of the mind's defenses.

The thread tugged it onward.

_So… now what?_ a voice asked; it sounded both near and far away and everywhere all at once, but had no visible source.

The Hat chuckled slightly to itself. Mr. Kurosaki, it seemed, had finally noticed it. "Oh, it's quite simple really," it said, knowing the other could hear it and continuing on through the maze of wires. "I take a look at what I find in here and—" It broke off abruptly, the edge of something cold and sharp pressing against its throat. It froze in surprise. _That_ had certainly never happened before… "Oh dear. Erm – terribly sorry – please don't hurt me—"

"Shut up," the guardian hissed, and the blade pressed harder against the Hat's windpipe. It craned its neck sideways to try and catch a glimpse of its captor, but all it saw was a flash of white and black before it forced the Hat's head back. "Who the 'ell're you?"

_Boushi-san?_

"King," the guardian called, addressing the empty sky, "Get yer ass in 'ere."

"Please don't hurt me," the Hat repeated. "I'm just trying to—"

"I said _shut up_. Yer in no position ta be talkin'. Keep it up and I _will_ kill ya."

The Hat fell silent immediately. It had never actually been attacked one of the guardians before now, and judging by the massive, cleaver-like blade the guardian was holding perilously close to the Hat's temporarily physical jugular vein, that had been no idle death threat.

Another figure appeared in a rush of air, this one clad in black; most likely the mind's owner, Kurosaki. "What happened?" he asked immediately.

"We've got a visitor," the white one spat, tightening his grip on the blade.

Kurosaki's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he drew his own sword from his back and pointed it at the terrified Hat. "Who are you? What are you doing in our mind?"

The Hat gulped audibly. "I'm terribly sorry – just trying to do my job, you see, this is what they made me for—"

The sword on its neck dug in painfully. The Hat whimpered. "'They?' Who the 'ell made you? An' what for?"

"Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw – nearly a thousand years ago! They made me to—"

A look of recognition passed over Kurosaki's face. "You – you're the Sorting Hat?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, yes, of course I am, who else would I be—" The blade on its neck twitched warningly. "Er… yes, that's me."

Ichigo let out a sigh of relief as he resheathed his sword. "Okay. That's good." He glanced at the Hat's captor. "Let him go, Shiro."

"But—"

"If he tries anything you can run him through."

"…Che."

The sword reluctantly withdrew, and the Hat scrambled away, breathing heavily and rubbing at the spot on its neck where the blade had dug into its skin. The man who had been holding it captive, it now saw, was _not_ the Man in Black after all, but instead a white duplicate of the mind's owner. _What_ _in_ _Merlin's_ _name happened to him_… The Hat shook its head. Now was _not_ the time to be wondering about such things. "Thank you, Mr. Kurosaki."

Ichigo grimaced. "Don't thank me yet." He sighed heavily. "Look, I get that you're just trying to do your job. The Sorting is important, we heard the speech already from McGonagall. What I want to know is whether or not letting you access our memories is _required_ for that to happen."

The Hat shuffled uncomfortably. "Well, technically, no. But it _is_ the quicker and easier method," it added hastily. "The interview process can take hours, and since I can view memories as quickly as thinking, it's usually the better way."

"And what about what you see?"

The Hat hestitated. "I was enchanted with a very strong Secrecy Charm, designed by Rowena herself," it said. "I can't tell _any_ of what I find to _anyone_, but I _am_ honor-bound to inform the current Headmaster if I think a student poses a potential danger to the school."

Ichigo nodded slowly. After a moment he glanced at the white one, who had leaned against a nearby streetlamp, watching the Sorting Hat with suspicious eyes, and who _still_ had not sheathed the very-dangerous-looking sword in his hand. "Where's Zangetsu?"

"Ossan's over in Motor Control," he said. "Keepin' our body from tippin' over an' causin' a scene, I think."

_Who is Zangetsu?_ the Hat wondered to itself. _Another personality? Merlin, just how damaged _is_ this boy?_ Out loud, it said, "Dare I ask why you are so worried about letting me in? The Secrecy Charm prevents me from divulging anything I might find…"

A pained look crossed both Kurosaki and the white one's faces. "Some memories are better left buried," Kurosaki muttered. After a long moment he sighed. "Alright. How long will this take?"

Shiro rounded on him. "Ya ain' seriously thinkin' o' lettin' 'im in?" he demanded. "Fuck, King, I thought _you_ were the sane one—"

"I don't like it either, but we don't have a choice," Ichigo snapped. "Remember what we're doing here. We've got a job to do, and if letting him access our memories gets it done… We're wasting time as it is. Time passes differently in here than it does out there, but that doesn't mean people won't notice our body's basically comatose if we don't get out of here soon."

The white one glared for another moment. "Che. Fine," he said at last, crossing his arms irritably and leaning back against the lamp. "But if 'e tries anythin'… 'e's _mine_."

"Not if I get to him first."

Shiro smirked. "Good."

The Hat glanced nervously between the two of them. "What _are_ you?" it wondered aloud, sounding amazed.

The pair exchanged darkly amused looks. "We're _us_."

The Hat nodded slowly. Somehow, that answer seemed to be the best it would get for the moment.

After another pause Kurosaki sighed, and nudged on of the black wires aside with his sword. "Alright. Get going."

Casting one last furtive glance at the white one, the Hat entered the maze. Black electricity crackled all around and sparks danced through the air as it passed deeper into the maze, allowing the golden Legilimency thread to guide it unerringly toward the center.

In the middle stood a single house, blue like the all the rest, but different in some indescribable way that made the Hat quite sure it was the central memory hub. The door was already slightly open, like someone had been in a hurry to leave and simply forgotten to close it. For a moment, the Hat wondered briefly which of them – Kurosaki, the white copy, or the mysterious third personality they had mentioned – had left it ajar. It shook its head; now was not the time to be worrying about such things. Without a second's more hesitation, the Hat pushed the door open and entered.

The large room inside was utterly square and windowless, despite how the house had appeared from the outside. Photographs – some framed, others not, some hung neatly from nails embedded in the drywall, others attached haphazardly with what looked like scotch tape – lined the walls from floor to ceiling, depicting a variety of scenes and faces and places. With a thought, the golden thread reached out and—

_A smiling woman with golden hair leaned forward to dab tears off his face after Tatsuki beat him again – twin round pudgy pink faces gazed up at him one with brown eyes and the other with gray – the golden-haired woman lying curled up on her side in a pool of blood as the skies opened up and shed tears of rain – a small girl with auburn hair cried into his shoulder the mangled body of her dead brother not a room away – a sense of victory as the black-haired girl fell to the floor – a worn golden coin that gleamed in the sunlight – the tip of a blade pressed firmly against his heart my name isn't Shinigami it's Kuchiki Rukia and then blinding pain and blood and POWER—_

Memories flooded through the Hat's mind. People smiling and frowning and laughing and crying, flashes of victory and loss and happiness and despair and love and hate and joy and rage, visions of firey phoenixes and high towers and an ivory citadel and a thin silver moon hanging motionless over an endless white desert…

_The black sword cracked as the tip pierced the silvery orb and the monstrous white armor shattered – did you truly believe you could defeat me so easily Kurosaki Ichigo – bienvenidos la nueva Primera – yer an idiot not ta realize what we are – his breath came out in ragged gasps as he flew past dunes and crystal trees he had to run he had to get away – he stood atop the sandy hill facing the sea of white masks and roared his defiance to the starless sky – the world was burning as he plunged the dark sword into another body and off to the side an identical white blade practically sang as it sailed through the air – a look of surprise crossed his face and he felt a brief sense of victory before a deep burning agony and oh kami MAKE IT STOP—_

The memories came to an abrupt halt, and the Hat blinked. Surely, that could not have been the end of it, that last memory had been more than ten years old…

A glance sideways gave it the answer. The golden thread lay crumpled on the floor, the end charred and blackened. The Hat stared. It hadn't known that Legilimency Threads could burn out – perhaps the psychic overload had been too much for it, even for a masterspell like Salazar's. It was not designed, after all, to be able to handle the trauma of nearly dying – _or had he actually died?_ – multiple times.

The phantom pain it had felt – the feeling a sword thrust into one's heart, the bite of cold steel slicing through skin, muscle, and bone, having one's _soul_ torn apart at its very foundations – haunted the Hat all the way back through the maze. To have seen so much – to have _felt_ so much – and still be sane… it was positively mind-boggling.

"I think I understand," it said softly as it emerged from the maze of black wires, smiling sadly at the pair of them – Shinigami and Hollow, it now realized. "Why you were so reluctant to let me see those."

"Never said our memories were happy ones," Kurosaki muttered quietly. He coughed slightly into his fist, a clear indicator of wanting to get back to the matter at hand. "So? Don't you have a job to do?"

The Hat shook its head distractedly. "Yes, yes of course – the Sorting."

It would be difficult to sort the pair (?) of them. The Hat had never had to make sense of so complex an individual (were they one? were they two? the Hat still didn't know) – it was responsible for sorting _children_, who, bless them, were mercifully uncomplicated. Children hid nothing from it and showed everything – at the very least, they did not have the ability to shield their minds from the Hat's spell. Their personalities and true natures were generally easy to divine… Despite its glimpse into Kurosaki's memories, the Hat was almost certain there were still pieces of the puzzle missing. Big pieces. The spell had shorted out long before the memories caught up to the present day, after all. So, how to Sort him…

After a moment, the Hat clapped its hands together, a signal of having made its decision. "To be honest, I've never had a case quite like yours," it said amiably. "I think it's safe to say any one of the Founders would have been delighted to have you in their House." A thoughtful look crossed the Hat's face as it paced across the fence. "Certainly intelligent enough for Rowena's tastes, but academics were never your main focus, so Ravenclaw is out. But there is also determination – good heavens, _yes_ – and a certain ruthless cunning, which Salazar certainly favored…" It glanced at the Hollow, who scowled heavily.

"We met some o' 'em. Ya try ta stick us in there an' yer gonna 'ave a lot o' dead bodies on yer 'ands," he growled.

The Hat gave him a wry smile. "You realize, of course, that threatening me is a very Slytherin thing to do?" it asked. Shiro glared, but the Hat shook its head. "Regardless, Slytherin is not for you, I don't think; you are far too – I believe the word I'm looking for is 'noble' – for the current House of Serpents. Perhaps in the old days…" it trailed off, as though lost in memory, before shaking its head once again. "No. You would not do well in that world of alliances and backstabbing, not well at all. So, it's between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor then… You are quite possibly the bravest soul I have ever come across, Mr. Kurosaki, and that alone would almost immediately cement you in the House of Lions, but it is my observation that much of your bravery stems directly from a fierce loyalty to your friends and a strong sense of right and wrong; those are traits dear Helga valued."

The Hat chuckled at the mildly indignant expressions that passed over their faces. "You don't seriously believe the 'Hufflepuffs are a bunch of duffers' story do you? Merlin, no… Hufflepuff is the House of loyalty, of hard work, of fairness and kindness… yes, you would do very well there indeed, and perhaps your fire would inspire the others to act as well. But at the same time, I fear the darkness you have seen would put you apart from your fellows; you would be hard-pressed to find friends there… And yet…" The Hat stopped its pacing, staring back towards the shining blue city looming the distance with its eyes unfocused.

Shiro frowned. "We're not 'ere ta make friends, Boushi. We've got a job ta do, an' we'll be damned if it we don' get it done."

The Hat nodded, almost reluctantly. "Yes, I suppose that is true…"

There was another long pause.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

The Hat shook its head as though to clear its thoughts. "…You both are very difficult to place, Mr. Kurosaki and Mr. Shirosaki. Very difficult indeed. But I have come to a decision. Better be…"

-0-

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat bellowed for all to hear. As the table on the far left of the hall broke into applause, the Hat continued, _Do try and visit me sometime, won't you? It's quite refreshing to be able to speak to someone face to face._ It chuckled lightly. _Well, so to speak._

Ichigo nodded slightly and removed the Hat, placing it gently on the three-legged stool. Dumbledore got to his feet as Ichigo made his way over to the scarlet and gold table and sat down in the empty space across from Harry and Ron.

"Well, now that that's settled – tuck in!"

The Headmaster dropped neatly into his high-backed chair and tossed his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate – for the moment Dumbledore had announced the start of the feast, great platters of the most delicious-smelling food had appeared on the tables. There were platters of roast beef and roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steaks, three kinds of potatoes, fresh breads and puddings… Ichigo stared as Ron shoveled chops into his mouth with an appreciative groan. He shook his head despairingly and helped himself to a much smaller serving of potatoes.

Harry grinned at him from across the table. "Good to see you in Gryffindor, mate."

The Shinigami smirked and had just opened his mouth to reply when several people leaned at once, bombarding him with questions.

"Where're you from?"

"What's your school like?"

"What classes do you take?"

"Do you like Britain so far?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

That last question caught him completely off guard. He glared daggers at Ron and Harry, who couldn't help by chuckle at his rather indignant expression.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Leave him alone, you lot," she said sharply to the group of curious onlookers. "At least give him one meal's peace before you badger him to death!"

Some of the students looked ready to protest, but one look at the red and gold prefect's badge pinned to the front of her robes and they seemed to reconsider it.

"…Thanks," Ichigo muttered, his face still beet-red.

Hermione smiled faintly. "No problem. But you _are_ going to have to deal with them eventually, I'm afraid."

He shuddered. "You and me both."

"What were you saying before the Sorting, Nick?" she asked, turning to where the ghost had sat, but he was no where to be found. "…Sir Nicholas?"

Harry frowned. "Where'd he go?"

Ron shrugged unconcernedly, his mouth still full of food. "'E's 'alk'n t' th' Bar'n, l'k," he said around a mouthful of steak and kidney pie, nodding towards the Slytherin table. Harry, Hermione, and Ichigo all followed his gaze to see the silvery-white figure of Sir Nicholas in deep conversation with three other pearly figures. Ron swallowed with visible effort. "Wonder what they're talking about? Usually the ghosts sit at the tables for the feast."

Ichigo rounded on him. "'_Ghosts_?'" he repeated, disbelievingly. "Those are _ghosts_?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, looking thoroughly confused. "You've never seen one before?"

The Shinigami frowned. "I've seen _plenty_, but never one like those…" _No way in hell are those Pluses, there's no chain…_

_They could be some kinda jibakurai,_ Shiro suggested.

_There'd still be a chain, though, wouldn't there?_ The Shinigami shook his head slightly. _Could the latent reiatsu in the air be hiding them?_

_Dunno,_ the Hollow said thoughtfully. _We've never 'eard 'bout somethin' like that, but I can't think o' a reason why it wouldn' be possible…_

_Joy. One more thing to write to geta-boushi about,_ Ichigo muttered. _Damn. This is getting more complicated…_

At long last the last of the deserts vanished and Dumbledore got to his feet again. "Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," he said. "First year students should know that the Forbidden Forest on the grounds is, in fact, forbidden to all students, and a few of our older students ought to know this by now as well."

Ron surreptitiously coughed into his fist.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, as asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is strictly prohibited in the corridors between classes, as are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the rather extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.

"We have two changes in staff this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons—" There was a smattering of polite applause as Professor Grubbly-Plank inclined her head acknowledgement. "—And we are delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Another round of unenthusiastic clapping rang through the hall, and Dumbledore continued, "Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the—" He broke off, looking at Professor Umbridge inquiringly. As the tiny woman was not much taller when standing than when sitting, for several long moments no one was entirely sure what had caused the old man to stop, until Umbridge gave a quiet little 'hem, hem'-ing noise and it became apparent she had gotten to her feet and wanted to give a speech.

The Headmaster only looked surprised for a split second before he sat back down smartly and steepled his fingers, his expression one of rapt attention. McGonagall exchanged a dark look with the professor on her right, and most of the students were exchanging confused, semi-amused looks.

No one had _ever_, in living memory, interrupted Dumbledore.

She cleared her throat again. "Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome."

Ichigo fought back the urge to shudder. The woman's voice was high-pitched and fluttery, like it should have belonged to a pre-adolescent girl rather than a fully-grown woman. He felt an immediate surge of dislike from the Hollow, who he knew was listening, and he couldn't help but agree with Shiro's sentiment – everything about her, from the horrible Alice band and fluffy cardigan to the shrill voice that would make even Yuzu cringe, rubbed him the wrong way. Out of the corner of his eye he could see one of the twins – probably Fred – miming vomiting onto the table to the suppressed snickers of those around him.

_Kami. If this keeps up I'll have run her through by New Year's._

_I'll 'elp,_ Shiro muttered darkly.

Umbridge coughed again. "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" She smiled widely, revealing pointed teeth. Ichigo shuddered. "And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!"

_The only way yer gonna see my ''appy liddle face' is when I stick my fist in yer fat mug, dumbass._

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"

_Aa, the best o' pals. Right after I shove this zanpakutou up yer—_

Umbridge was speaking again, but this time her voice had lost some of its breathiness and her words now had a businesslike, learned-by-heart quality to them. "The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance—"

_Coulda fooled me._

"—The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction—"

_No way in 'ell should ya be allowed ta 'nuture' anythin' ya sorry excuse for a human bein'._

"—The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever—"

_If by 'ancient skills' ya mean the ability ta annoy people ta death, it's prob'ly better off lost._

"—The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

_Yer not anywhere near 'noble' enough ta qualify fer that._

Umbridge bowed slightly to her fellow members of the staff, none of whom bowed back. McGonagall's eyebrows had contracted so far she looked positively hawklike, and she exchanged another significant glance with the teacher on her right. "Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering—"

_Whatever tradition got _you_ here needs more'n a _liddle_ 'tinkerin'.'_

"—A balance then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation—"

_Aa, the 'new' teacher should leave _now_ b'fore I institute a permanen' 'change' in staff—_

And so it went. Ichigo struggled to keep a straight face as Umbridge continued speaking, but paid close attention all the same. The material was dry – about on par with the average desert – but it wasn't the most boring thing he had ever been forced to listen to. It seemed that having to sit through all those captain's meetings had finally paid off. He had a feeling that Shiro, despite the sarcastic commentary, was doing the same.

Gradually the noise level increased as the attention level in the hall dropped. Students leaned in and chatted idly with their neighbors, and over at the Ravenclaw table Luna Lovegood was once again engrossed in her upside-down magazine. Harry and Ron appeared to be engaged in a rather vicious hangman tournament, but Hermione seemed to be entirely focused on Umbridge, who was completely oblivious to the restlessness of her audience. Ichigo had the distinct impression that even a fully-fledged Menos invasion would not deter her from plowing onwards with her speech.

Until, of course, some Gillian got sufficiently annoyed to swallow the toad woman in one gulp… Shiro nominated this as a viable solution to shutting her up.

"…Because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmodeled and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

She sat down, and Dumbledore started clapping immediately. The rest of the staff followed his lead, but few of them brought their hands together more than once or twice before stopping. A few students belatedly copied them, but before they could properly start applauding Dumbledore had gotten to his feet again.

"Thank you, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating. Now as I was saying… Quidditch trials will be held—"

"Yes, it certainly _was_ illuminating," Hermione muttered darkly. Ichigo nodded in agreement.

Ron rounded on them. "You're not telling me you _enjoyed_ it?" he asked incredulously. "That was about the dullest speech I ever heard, and I grew up with Percy."

Hermione frowned. "I said 'illuminating,' not 'enjoyable.' It explained a lot."

Harry blinked. "Did it? Sounded like a load of waffle to me."

"There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle," she said grimly.

Harry and Ron exchanged blank stares.

Hermione sighed. "How about 'progress for progress's sake must be discouraged?' Or, 'pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited?'"

"Well, what does that mean?" Ron demanded.

"Nothing good, I'd bet," Ichigo said darkly.

Hermione nodded stiffly, glaring up at the staff table. "It means… It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts."

Her words hung ominously in the air for a few seconds before there was a great scraping and clattering of benches; Dumbledore had apparently just dismissed the school, for all around them students were getting to their feet. She jumped up. "Ron, we're supposed to show the first years where to go," she hissed, looking panicked.

Ron blinked. "Oh, right. Um… Hey! Hey you lot – midgets!"

"_Ronald_!"

"Well, they are, they're all titchy…"

"That's not the point…" Hermione groaned. "You can't call them _midgets_, Ron… First years!" she called over the crowd. "This way please!"

A group of tiny students came meekly up the gap between the Gryffindor table and the one beside it. Harry smiled at one of the boys, who promptly turned white as a sheet and nudged his neighbor, who looked similarly horrified. Ichigo scowled at their behavior (_Pathetic,_ Shiro muttered), causing a couple of girls to whimper in fright.

The smile slid off Harry's face. "See you later," he said dully to Ron and Hermione, then he vanished into the crowd. The pair of them exchanged worried looks.

Ichigo sighed. "Guess I'll go after him then," he muttered under his breath. He finally caught up with him just as Harry was turning a corner near a suit of armor.

Harry rounded on him as he approached. "What?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Thought I could follow you back to dorm," he said, completely unconcerned at Harry's rather rude tone.

The black-haired wizard snorted in contempt. "Yeah? Why don't you follow Ron and Hermione, then?"

Again, the Shinigami shrugged, falling into step beside his cousin. "Figured you'd take the less populated route," he said evenly, grimacing slightly. "I'd rather avoid the curious masses."

Harry scoffed, but made no further objections as they continued onwards to Gryffindor Tower. The entire walk up to the seventh floor was filled with a tense, angry silence, but Ichigo made no move to break it and get Harry to spill about whatever was bothering him. It was, frankly, none of his damn business, and it would be hypocritical of him to try and bother the younger boy about it. He'd been the same way when he was fifteen, after all.

They finally came to a halt in front of a portrait of a fat woman in a lurid pink dress.

"Er…"

The woman smoothed out the invisible creases in her dress. "No password, no entrance," she sniffed.

Ichigo scowled. "Look, lady—"

"Harry, I know it!" someone shouted breathlessly, and Neville appeared around the corner, panting and sweating but otherwise looking quite pleased with himself. "Guess what it is – I'll be able to remember it this time!" He waved the stunted gray cactus over his head excitedly. "_Mumbulus mimbletonia_!"

The Fat Lady nodded and the portrait swung open to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all clambered through it and into the tower: a round, cozy room full of worn, squishy-looking armchairs and rickety tables, all decorated in varying shades of red and gold. Ichigo spotted Fred and George off in the corner, tacking something up on a noticeboard. Harry, it seemed, was in no mood for talking as he marched straight up to the staircase leading to the dormitories. Catching sight of a group of giggling third-year girls, all of whom were staring at him in apparent fascination, the Shinigami soon followed.

They climbed a winding staircase and entered through a door on the fifth landing. The room inside was round like the common room below, and someone had managed to squeeze six four-poster beds with red velvet hangings inside. Ichigo suspected an expansion charm of some sort.

"Looks like you're in with us," Harry told him.

Two boys were already inside, hanging posters on the walls beside their beds. They stopped talking as soon as Harry, Neville, and Ichigo stepped foot inside the room. One of them, a tall boy with dark skin, straightened on sight of them and smiled broadly, holding out his hand. "Hi. Name's Dean Thomas, and that bloke over there is Seamus Finnigan."

Seamus grunted, attempting to fix a Sticking Charm on the corner of his poster of the Kenmare Kestrels Quidditch team.

Ichigo took the proffered hand. "Ichigo Kurosaki. Nice to meet you, Thomas."

Dean's smile widened. "Welcome to Hogwarts. Where is it you're from?"

Ichigo shrugged, rummaging around in the trunk at the foot of his bed and pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a thin shirt. "Shinou Academy in Japan."

Neville frowned slightly, placing his _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ almost tenderly on his bedside table. "I've never heard of it."

"Not surprising—" _considering the students are all dead_ "—it's a pretty small school," Ichigo said unconcernedly.

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "So what's got you over here?"

"I study intercultural relations. A trip overseas is part of the degree program," the Shinigami lied smoothly, setting a small black cell phone on the bedside table.

"Cool."

"How was your holiday, Dean?" Harry asked as he was pulling off his own robes.

"Eh, it was alright," Dean said, putting on a set of maroon and blue pyjamas. "Better than Seamus' anyway, he was just telling me…"

Neville raised an eyebrow. "Why? What happened?"

The boy named Seamus continued to fiddle with his poster of the Kenmare Kestrels for several long moments. At last he said, "Me mam didn't want me to come back."

"What? Why?" Harry asked, aghast.

"Me mam didn't want me to come back to Hogwarts," Seamus repeated, still not looking at any of them.

"But _why_?"

"Well… well, I suppose it's because of – because of you," he said quickly, with the air of someone wanting to get the worst over with as soon as possible.

A very tense, absolute silence fell between the five of them that instantly put the Shinigami on edge. It was far, far too similar to the start of many of the battles during the Winter War; just waiting for the pin to drop and all hell to break loose. He didn't show it; he simply raised an eyebrow and continued to unpack his trunk, though he did not lower his guard any.

"Oh," Harry said faintly.

"It's not just you," Seamus continued hurriedly. "It's Dumbledore too…"

"_Oh_. I _see_. So she believes the _Prophet_, does she?" A fire seemed to have been lit in Harry's eyes, and they blazed with anger. "She thinks that I'm a nutter, and Dumbledore's an old fool?"

"Well… yeah, something like that," Seamus muttered embarrassedly.

Harry did not reply to that, instead spinning on his heel and pulling items out of his trunk with unnecessary violence.

"Look… what _did_ happen that night when… you know… with Cedric Diggory, and all?" Seamus' voice was both hesitant and oddly eager at the same time.

_Aaaand… there's the pin drop._

"What're you asking _me_ for?" Harry spat. "Just read the _Daily Prophet_ like your stupid mother, that'll tell you all you need to know!"

Seamus' face purpled with fury. "Don't you have a go at me mother!"

"I'll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar—"

"Don't talk to me like that!"

"I'll talk to you however I want," Harry retorted heatedly. "If you've got a problem sharing a dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved. Stop you're mummy worrying—"

"Leave my mother out of this, Potter!"

"_Urusai_." Harry and Seamus stopped dead in their tracks, wands in hand as a heavy, overwhelming pressure filled the room. Ichigo scowled and crossed the room to stand between the arguing pair. Neville and Dean, though not exposed to the brunt of the force, both flinched, and Neville even let out a small whimper of fear. "Both of you shut up and go to bed or I swear to Kami above I will send one _or more of you_ to the hospital tonight."

Seamus blanched at the blatant threat, then swelled himself up like a bullfrog. "You know what? He's right. I don't want to share a dormitory with him anymore, he's a madman."

"Who's a madman?" Ron asked, appearing in the doorway. His eyes darted between Harry and Seamus, both of whom still had their wands raised, and Ichigo, who had positioned himself between them and looked about ready to kill someone.

"_He_ is," Seamus snarled, pointing a shaking finger at Harry. "The _Prophet's_ right, he's gone completely mad!"

Ron's ears reddened. "That's out of order, Seamus."

"Out of order? _Out of order_? You believe all that rubbish he's come up with about You-Know-Who? You reckon he's telling the truth?"

"Yeah, I do!"

"Then you're mad too," Seamus said in disgust. "The lot of you."

"The one who's mad is the one who takes the word of others over what he's seen with his own eyes," Ichigo growled. "_They're_ the one who is _mad_."

Seamus rounded on him. "What would _you_ know, you're just a ruddy _foreigner_—"

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as a fist collided with his chin, lifting him a good inch or so off the floor and sending him crashing to the ground. Ichigo's expression was disturbingly neutral as he lifted the smaller boy by the front of his pajamas and held him at eye level. "You're right, I _am_ a foreigner. One who, unfortunately for you, has a lot of experience taking down things bigger and scarier than you could ever even _dream_ of being, and is therefore not even _remotely_ frightened by that little twig of yours," he hissed, his eyes shining an odd gold color in the candlelight. "Now, are you going to do as the foreigner says and shut up, or is he going to have to pound your head in some more?"

Seamus dropped to the floor in an unceremonious heap. Ichigo turned to the rest. "Anybody _else_ feel like pissing me off tonight?"

Dean and Neville both shook their heads vigorously.

No one else said a word as the lot of them climbed into bed. As Ron was about to douse the last candle in the dormitory, Neville said quietly, "For what it's worth, Harry, me and Gran – we believe you."

"…Thanks, Neville."

The light went out. Ichigo sighed and snapped the phone shut, having set the alarm for the next morning. Ukitake be quite upset – hell, _Rukia_ would probably _kill_ him – for losing his temper like that. He could already hear the lecture Zangetsu was no doubt preparing to give him the second he entered the dreamworld. He sighed again and leaned back into the pillows.

_This does not bode well for the rest of the year_.

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_sugoi: cool, neat, awesome, etc._

_ossan: old man (informal)_

* * *

_Greetings!_

_Thank you to Hayleartpokeluv, Yami-no-Tamashii, Sadie*spotty, JNottle, Jiyle, Penemuel, KaTyXLoves, writertron, StretchableWings, AnimeCritic514, Aslook, KianaNic, Obiki Doragon, Mist of Rainbows, animelover1993, Basia Orci, wind daffodil kyuuketsuki-san, Escapedslave99, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, Sofia10Soccer, A*C*Y*P (who gets an extra-special thank you for correcting the Japanese), One of the Colorless, dragonXXforte, FanFictionFan345, FurionKnight, NoahofDesire, JessieKage, TaioKaiona, Ko-pia, SilverFlameoftheWindScar, DragonBlade00, mauralucky7, I'm Only A Reader, thisGUY, Eternal Love's Exlipse, Zackire, twiztidchick666, vladisnoangel, peach77, Rethena Tydnalli, Sigil Dagger, mrKillJoy247, Beijing Girl, Naosj, skepsis66, XxKyuubiRoxX, ffrarl, fallen-wolfborn, 4master (x9), Panda123, FireSenshi2, Kerowyn Van'Seph, Krystal Liu, moonlit dew, and BeccaBaby for your reviews of Chapter Twelve. You all have my deepest thanks._

_The longer A/N is at the end of Chapter 14, so I won't bother filling this space with my useless prattle._

_Onwards!_  
_Nesarna_  
_2/26/11_

* * *

_A brief note on the Sorting:_

_I debated long and hard on where to put Ichigo. I did consider placing him outside of Gryffindor; he is, I think, well-suited for Hufflepuff and Slytherin as well, which would have been fun - but I didn't want to put him somewhere where I'd have difficulty writing in later chapters; frankly, I didn't think I'd be able to run with another house for very long. Gryffindor is cliche perhaps, but I think it was - is - the most logical choice: if he is supposed to be guarding Harry, he must necessarily be in close proximity. Ichigo knows this, and the Hat always takes the opinions of the people it is sorting into consideration, in spite of its own reluctance._


	14. Interlude: War Stories

_Someday, somehow, I _will_ figure out the secret of updating on a reasonable basis. In the meantime, however..._

_...Please don't hurt me._

_Note: If this isn't showing up in the Chapter 14 slot, it should be. The site seems to be having difficulty putting content in the same order as the Story Manager. I'll rearrange them manually once traffic dies down._

* * *

_**DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes.**_

_**IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine.**_

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

First Interlude

-0-

Urahara whistled happily as he climbed the stairsteps to the library. The gaslamps flared to life as he entered, casting a flickering light over the books. He walked over to the area he'd designated as his temporary laboratory. He'd been putting it off for the past few weeks, instead focusing his efforts on helping his young protégé prepare for the coming school year. That, and he had to wait for some of the more sensitive equipment to arrive from Seireitei; Mayuri had been most upset that he couldn't undertake the task himself, but had reluctantly agreed to provide the necessary tools for examination once Urahara had explained why the item _couldn't_ be brought into Soul Society – he did, however, demand in no uncertain terms that Urahara _would_ turn over anything and everything he discovered to the juunibantai for proper documentation.

But the equipment was finally here and Ichigo was gone. It was time to get to work.

He stopped whistling and came to a halt. "I know you're there," he said to the empty library. "No use in hiding."

A patch of air next to a bookshelf shimmered and waved and Alastor Moody appeared, holding some sort of gleaming silver cloth.

"So, you could see me," he growled, tucking the silvery substance into a pocket.

Urahara smiled widely, fan in hand. "Well, I wouldn't call it 'seeing' so much as 'feeling'… What can I do for you this fine evening, Moody-san?"

The old auror fixed the shopkeeper with an intense, odd-eyed stare. "I think you have some explaining to do."

Urahara hummed thoughtfully from under the brim of his hat. "Oh?"

"Indeed," Moody grunted. "Something very odd happened last night when Molly tried to tackle that boggart; I think you just might know something about it."

Urahara sighed and snapped the fan shut. The locket would have to wait. Ichigo was going to _kill_ him the next time they met…

"What do you want to know?"

Moody's magical eye stopped swiveling in its socket to fix him with a piercing stare.

"_Everything_."

"'Everything,' eh?" Kisuke repeated, moving past the old auror and pulling out a few chairs beside the desk, carefully aside the neatly-stacked file folders and oddly-shaped beakers that littered the tabletop. "In that case, you'd better sit down. This may take a while." He glanced over to the far corner. "And tell your friends there's no use in eavesdropping, either. I know you're there, you two."

There was a loud crash from behind a distant bookshelf and a display featuring the collected works of Malecrit fell to the floor in a plume of dust. From the cloud emerged a sheepish and violently-coughing Black, followed by an exasperated Lupin. Moody looked both unsurprised and unimpressed to see them.

"I _told_ you it wouldn't work, Padfoot," he said mildly, brushing dirt off his robes.

"Yeah, well…" the ex-con muttered, shooting his friend an irritated glare. He turned to Urahara. "How did you know where we were, anyway?"

Urahara simply grinned. "Oh, I have my ways… now please, take a seat. And where _are_ my manners," he added, adopting a shocked expression. "I haven't offered my guests drinks. Just a moment. It should be in here _somewhere_…" He rummaged around in one of the large, wooden crates that lined the walls of the room, tossing aside a number of strange, questionable items, including a lacy parasol, something that Moody thought looked suspiciously like a muggle rocket launcher, and a disturbing number of folded paper fans. "No… no… not it… nope… what is _that_ doing in here?… no… hmm…"

"Need a hand?" Black asked idly as a box of violently purple gloves smacked into a shelf displaying an original copy of _Sonnets of a Sorcerer_.

Urahara straightened and smiled apologetically, still holding a long, spindly-looking metal instrument that looked rather like a tennis racket. "I'm afraid my things are still in a bit of disarray… This equipment's just arrived, you see – haven't had the time to properly unpack…"

"Perfectly understandable," Lupin said. "Allow me." He drew his wand, and an instant later a fully-loaded tea tray appeared on the empty table.

"Fascinating," Urahara murmured as the tea poured itself. "How _does_ that work? Did you rearrange the atoms in the air? How can _that_ happen without causing a fusion or fission reaction? Perhaps if it were instantaneous… yes, that could work. Energy from fission fuelling the secondary fusion process – but there should still be _some_ energy left over, I would think… Unless, of course, it actually _is_ created from nothing, which would violate quite a few laws of physics – but then again, if it were an _energy_ _transformation_… Not to mention the levitation. How on earth would you go about creating such a specific anti-gravity field? Unless it's actually being _lifted_, rather than _repelled_—"

Sirius suppressed a groan at the broad smile that spread across his friends' face. Remus was ever a teacher at heart. "No, no, nothing that complicated. According to the Waffling Theory—"

"_Ah-hem_."

Lupin broke off, glancing apologetically at Moody. "—But we've gotten a bit off topic. We'll have to discuss magical theory another day, I'm afraid."

"Oh, very well, if you insist." The tea finished pouring, and the cups lifted into the air to land gently in the hands of the four gathered around the table. Urahara settled back into his chair and looked around at the others, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Now. On to business. I'm not foolish enough to believe you won't go telling your leader everything we discuss tonight, so I won't even bother asking you to keep quiet," he said bluntly. "That being said, however, you must be very careful to _never_ to let any of this information slip outside of your little group. The consequences would be… severe."

Black raised an eyebrow. "How severe are we talking here?"

The ex-captain tilted his head back for a moment as though thinking. "You're all familiar with the story of Atlantis?" He received a round of nodding heads. "A bit like that, only with less collateral damage. The King's Guard is thorough. _Very_ thorough. I highly doubt you, your family, friends, coworkers, or random people you've met on the street would make it out alive if they decided to take serious action."

A ringing silence followed this pronouncement. All three had varying looks of alarm on their faces. "This… 'King's Guard', they're _that_ strong?" Lupin croaked, aghast.

"No." At the look of relief that crossed the werewolf's face, Urahara almost felt bad for shattering the man's hopes. Almost. "They're stronger."

Sirius let out a weak chuckle. "You're kidding. That's impossible. Nobody has that sort of power, not even Dumbledore or You-Know-Who…"

"You're right – no _human_ has that sort of power. But _I_ am _not_ human, and neither are those who would come after you," Urahara said flatly. "Those selected for the Guard are the best of the best when they join, and their power only grows as the years go by. The oldest among them could likely flatten London simply by _thinking_ about it."

"…You're serious."

"Quite."

Black gulped audibly.

Moody frowned. "If that's the case, why are so you willing to talk? Wouldn't it be better to just… leave us out of it?"

The shopkeeper shrugged. "Ordinarily, we would. As a general rule we try to have as little impact as possible on the lives of the living. Unfortunately, it hasn't been working too well of late. I suppose you _could_ blame Ichigo-kun for that, though in that respect he's really more of a _symptom_, not the disease itself. _That_ would have been—" He broke off, shaking his head. "Regardless. What you saw last night, what you undoubtedly _will_ see in the coming months… I _highly_ doubt you would simply leave it well enough alone, and it's better to tell you all the relevant information at the outset rather than let you dig around for it. Much less dangerous for all involved." He paused for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. "For better or for worse, Ichigo-kun has become involved in your affairs. In order for that to happen, there are certain things you will need to understand – and Ichigo-kun can't tell you. If we were in Japan, he could – but we are operating outside our usual capacity. Fortunately, I am not quite entirely bound by the Law the way my protégé is, and therefore the responsibility falls to me—"

"What law?"

Urahara grimaced. "…There are some secrets that go beyond mortal men," he said at last. "This is one of them. The King's Law…" he trailed off with a sigh. "Every Shinigami swears an oath to uphold it the moment they pick up their zanpakutou, whether they know it or not. It is _absolute_ - to break it is a fate worse than death. Ichigo-kun has risked a great deal telling you what he has already – any more and his existence may as well be forfeit."

He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes shaded beneath the brim of his hat. The lights in the room seemed to flicker and dim as he spoke. "I will not lie. It's a dangerous world out there, beyond the likes of mortal ken. There is a _very_ good reason for the Law to even exist – it keeps _you_ safe. From Hollows _and_ from us. The scale of power involved… well. You can imagine – or rather, you _can't_. Suffice to say, you are _perfectly_ welcome to walk back out that door whenever you like. But if that happens, _you_ don't get to find out what you want to know, and it makes _my_ task of learning what _I_ need to know a great deal more difficult." He smiled faintly. "Difficult, but not _impossible_. I suppose I _could_ do all the research myself, but it would take up a lot of time and energy which could be better used for other, more important tasks."

Moody's normal eye narrowed. "And _what_ exactly is it you want out of this?"

"Information," was the clipped reply. "On Dark magic and the one called Voldemort. And the Potter boy too, I suppose," he added.

Alastor's face remained carefully neutral as he curled his fingers around the wand hidden in his sleeve. "And that interests you why?"

At this, Urahara grimaced. "Something is… _not_ _right_ with the whole situation. Dead souls that don't follow the usual progression of decay, living people who should by all rights be _dead_… Something is wrong. _Very_ wrong. And I would very much like to find out what." He glanced back at the other two. "Do we have an agreement?"

Lupin exchanged a glance with Sirius before nodding. "Yes, I believe we do."

"_Subarashii_." The lamps flared back into life and the space in the archway of the door flashed bright silver for a split-second before fading back into transparency – though if he looked from certain angles, Moody could still see an odd, color-distorting sheen, rather like the film on a soap bubble.

"What was that?" he demanded, normal eye turning to glare at Urahara while the magical one remained fixed on the shimmering doorway.

"Hm? Oh, you mean the door. Not to worry, it's just a simple barrier spell. A variant of the _Kyoumon_ shield. Keeps people on the outside from coming in, though you're free to leave any time you wish. We wouldn't want to be overheard, now would we?"

Sirius frowned. "If you're talking about Kreacher, he has strict orders not to reveal anything about the Order."

Kisuke smiled faintly. "Ah, but _this_ is not Order business. And even if it were, 'better safe than sorry,' as the saying goes." He settled back in his chair and took a sip of his tea, watching the three of them carefully. "So. What is it you want to know?"

The wizards exchanged a look. "What happened last night?" Moody finally asked.

A fan appeared in Urahara's free hand. "A lot happened last night. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

Moody glared. "_Talk._ Start from the beginning."

After a few seconds' pause, the fan snapped shut. "_Weeeell_… Some fourteen billion years ago space-time emerged from the void of Muzen, and in that instant, the concepts of _where_ and _when_ began to exist, leading to the birth of the first of many spirits, Ei no Musubime—"

"_Enough_," Moody snapped. Sirius was outright laughing, and Remus was having difficulty suppressing a smile.

Kisuke adopted a hurt expression. "You _said_ to start at the beginning…"

The auror looked fit to explode into an apoplectic frenzy. Before the hexes could begin flying, Lupin decided to intervene. "Perhaps not _quite_ that far back. We're more concerned with what happened _last_ _night_." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Let's start with something simple. Who were those – those people? You must have seen them."

Urahara's eyes were shaded beneath his hat. "…They were – _are_ – people Ichigo-kun has sworn to protect. His friends, his family, his loved ones. Those he would give his life to save – and in one instance, actually _did_. …I suspect more would have appeared," he continued softly, "If Anzu-kun hadn't…" he trailed off, shuddering. "Be grateful he intervened when he did, or there may not have been much left of the block." He paused, thinking. "Or of the city in general, for that matter."

Moody's non-magical eye narrowed suspiciously. "Who?"

"Ah – that's right, you haven't been introduced yet." Urahara rifled through the many papers and folders stacked on his desk before extracting a thick manila envelope. "He'd much rather you meet him in person, I'm sure, but since he and Ichigo-kun are off at your magic school at the moment, this will have to do."

Moody opened it; inside were the contents of a rather detailed personnel file.

"Anzu Shirosaki. Hollow. Current co-captain of the Fifth Division of the Imperial Guard of Seireitei alongside Ichigo Kurosaki."

Alastor grunted in acknowledgement, recognizing the title from Kurosaki's own introduction in the foyer of Number Four, Privet Drive. His magical eye scanned through the pages rapidly, committing them to memory – he (once again) made a mental note to brush up on his Japanese. He recognized such entries as age and date of birth (or perhaps date of _death_ in this case) and the distinctive shape of a radar chart near the bottom of page fifteen, but the rest was a mystery.

For now.

What really caught his attention, however, were the photographs stapled to the upper-left hand corner. The first was motionless, unlike wizarding photos – but if it had been, the auror was positive the subject would be flashing rude hand gestures. The picture showed a sneering young man no older than eighteen or nineteen, with colorless hair pulled back into a low ponytail and a complexion to match. He could have passed for human – albeit an unusually pale one – if it weren't for the distinctly _in_human yellow-on-black eyes that seemed to glow with a vicious, ruthless intelligence despite the lifelessness of the image.

Beside it was another photo, this one depicting an entirely different figure. In contrast to the paleness of the first picture, it showed a hulking black creature with a mane of white hair, its face obscured by a bleached-bone mask, utterly featureless save for a vicious, sharp-toothed grin and a series of dark red stripes on the right side. Yellow eyes, just like those in the first photo, glinted from behind narrow slits. Looking at it, Moody could not help but wonder if it was based on the masks the Death Eaters had worn during the previous war... and then, more chillingly, whether the reverse was true.

"…I don't understand," Lupin said after a moment, looking between the two photographs with his brow furrowed in confusion. "Are… that… from last night, and… this… he looks a lot like Kurosaki, but…"

The old auror scoffed. "More than 'a lot,'" he growled, passing the dossier to an impatient Sirius. "They're _identical_."

"Of course they are. Why shouldn't they be?"

"For starters, it is highly unusual for two unrelated people to look _that_ much like each other," Sirius said dryly, examining the two photographs. "For another, even identical twins generally don't have the same exact face. If it weren't for the haircut, I'd think this was a photo of Kurosaki after an accident with Colour-Changing Charms."

Kisuke smiled thinly. "You're not… too far off, I suppose. He _is_ Ichigo-kun – or rather, _was_."

Black tilted his head to the side, confusion evident on his face. "Er… what?"

Urahara frowned. "There were… complications during his training program. The process of forcibly awakening latent spiritual abilities is difficult, to put it mildly. Even under normal circumstances, some form of life-threatening danger is required, and Ichigo-kun's was _hardly_ a regular case. The combination of two diametrically opposing processes was risky, but given how well the theory worked out – and it _did_ work, even if it wasn't in quite the way I had predicted." He shook his head. "There were… unforeseen consequences I did not anticipate. I just wish I had realized that earlier – would have saved everyone involved a great deal of time and trouble. But we didn't, so the fracture went unnoticed—"

"Hold up a second," Sirius interrupted. "What do you mean, 'fracture'?"

"Precisely what it sounds like. Hollowfication is the result of a human soul's destabilization. Shinigamification is precisely the opposite. Being pulled in both directions simultaneously is – well. _Something_ had to give. Unfortunately, I misjudged exactly _how much_ would."

All three of them had identical looks of confusion on their faces. "…Come again?"

Urahara sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How much did Ichigo-kun tell you about Hollows and Shinigami?"

They exchanged glances. "Not a lot," Black admitted. "Something about guardian spirits, maybe?"

"He said he was – _you_ were – regulators. That you controlled the flow of souls in the world," Lupin said. "And that Hollows were your opposite. 'Antithesis,' I believe is the term he used."

"Typical Ichigo-kun," Kisuke muttered, shaking his head. "He gave you the most… general description. But I suppose it was the best he could give, considering the circumstances." He gave them all a very long, hard look. "What do you know of the afterlife?"

The three wizards collectively blinked, surprised by the abrupt change in topic. "And what's that got to do with anything?" Moody growled.

A faint smile flickered across Urahara's face. "As you said, 'everything.'"

They exchanged another bewildered look. "Well… nothing, really," Black said at last. "It's one of the Great Mysteries, isn't it? No one really knows at all… I tried to ask Nick about it once upon a time, but he didn't know either."

"I remember Lily talking once about what the different muggle religions say," Lupin added. "Heaven, Hell, reincarnation… it's all so different. I believe the Department of Mysteries has studied the subject on and off for ages, but I don't know what they found..."

But Moody shook his head. "Nothing. The Department of Fiscal Responsibility and Monetary Appropriations cut off funding for it back in around the turn of the century. Project Tartarus has officially been cancelled, permanently."

"Why?" Lupin asked, directing his gaze at the old shopkeeper.

Urahara was silent for a long moment. "The afterlife is never as simple as it is made to sound," he began. "For the purposes of this discussion, assume there are two dimensions: the living realm – the one we currently inhabit – and Soul Society, the world of spirits. When a person dies, one of three things can happen. If their death was 'expected' – which is to say, not accidental or otherwise premature – their soul moves straight on to Soul Society and that's the end of it. However, since accidents _do_ occur, souls sometimes linger on in the human world – becoming what we in the business call a 'Plus'—"

"We already know about the ghosts," Black said, sounding bored. "There're a whole lot of them at Hogwarts. Been there for centuries, I reckon."

Urahara gave him a mock glare for interrupting, but made a mental note to ask the ex-con what he meant by 'ghosts' later. Now was not the time to be investigating random tangents, not if he wanted to get the whole story out before dawn. "Pluses, because they are essentially trapped in the human world, have to be sent on manually by a subclass of exceptionally powerful spirits called Shinigami. Ichigo-kun and I both fit into this category."

Moody's normal eye narrowed. "And that word means what, exactly?"

Urahara hesitated for a moment, his eyes shaded beneath the brim of his hat. "…The position roughly correlates to the Western concept of a psychopomp - one who guides the souls of the deceased to the land of eternal rest, as it were. The word itself translates as 'death god.'"

Sirius, who had just taken a gulp of tea, spat it back out. "So, wait, let me get this straight," Sirius managed to get out between coughs, "You're a _god_?"

Urahara snorted. "Certainly not. 'Shinigami' is little more than a pretentious title. We aren't _real_ kami – a fact we seem to have forgotten more often than not, I'm afraid to say," he added, mostly to himself.

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "'Kami?'"

He shrugged. "They're true gods, if they can be called that," he explained. "I suppose 'aspects of the universe' might be a more accurate term, but it doesn't quite have the same ring to it." He shook his head. "I must confess that I've never been fortunate – or perhaps _unfortunate_ – enough to encounter one. Ichigo-kun could perhaps tell you more, if he were actually inclined to talk about it…" He trailed off for a moment, lost in memory, before shaking his head as though to clear it. "But I digress. Where was I – ah, yes. Shinigami.

"Shinigami are peacekeepers, a sort of police of the afterlife if you will. Our primary responsibility is, as I've said before, to guide Pluses on to Soul Society. Unfortunately, it's almost impossible to get to every Plus before their Chain of Fate begins to corrode."

Lupin blinked. "I've heard that term before. That's what binds the – er, soul to the body, isn't it?"

Urahara nodded. "Correct. The average soul is incapable of surviving for long in the material world without an anchor and shield, such as that provided by the living body – reishi and genshi are fundamentally incompatible. Matter and antimatter, if you will. The instant the Chain is broken, the soul begins to destabilize." He tapped photograph in the still-open file. "The end result of this destabilization is a Hollow, such as Anzu-kun here."

He sighed. "…There is no easy way to say this. Hollows are destructive by nature. By all accounts, Hollowfication is an _exceedingly_ painful process. It drives most mad, but for those who aren't… the hunger soon takes care of that." He swirled his tea thoughtfully, choosing his next words with care. "Unstable souls require constant maintenance to survive. Imagine trying to build a tower out of pebbles - the ones near the top keep rolling down the sides, so you have to keep adding more and more pebbles to replace the ones you've lost. They're missing some fundamental thing, and therefore must seek it out from other sources. In the Hollows' case, that particular something is spiritual energy. Unfortunately, areas of high reishi concentration are few and far between in the living world. The sources that _do_ exist tend to be… well, not entirely pleasant to contemplate for the weak of stomach."

Moody's scars twisted into a grotesque parody of a sneer. "You're dodging the point."

Kisuke shot him an annoyed glare. "All living things produce reishi to some degree or another. The amount is based on the relative sentience of the thing in question – plant life, for example, barely registers at all, and most animals fare little better. There are occasionally reports of hunger-mad Hollows going after monkeys or dolphins – I remember some decades ago a story about a particularly insane specimen off the coast of Kyoto that had taken a liking to _octopus_, of all things—"

"Get on with it," Moody interrupted.

Urahara's shoulders seemed to slump. "…In any event, given that the souls of animals and plants serve as little more than _hors d'oeurve_ and hunting their own kind is generally too risky for fledgling Hollows, the only remaining possibility is, to be blunt—"

"Humans souls," Moody finished. Urahara's silence was answer enough. "Dammit."

The shopkeeper's head inclined in confirmation. "Yes. However—"

Lupin's face paled dramatically. "So – that – _thing_ is a—" His hands clenched into fists, the knuckles chalk-white. "And you _let_ – Are you _mad_?! Letting a monster like _that_ into a school full of – it'll be like two years ago all over again! Students getting injured and – Merlin forbid, _eaten_ - left, right, and center – and this time – this time—"

He broke off with an odd _hrk_ing sound, suddenly finding it very difficult to breathe. Urahara's grey eyes were as cold and hard as steel, and the shadow cast by the brim of his ridiculous hat suddenly seemed much more ominous than it had been seconds before.

"_Enough_," he said, all traces of good humor gone from his voice. "I will not sit here and listen to you verbally attack one of my students. They get enough of _that_ back in Seireitei, and he doesn't need it here from a grown man who _should_ know better. Both of them would gladly put their lives on the line if it meant keeping you safe, and Anzu-kun in particular sacrificed a good part of his freedom to stay here and help your cause. If you cannot acknowledge that, I suggest you leave. Now."

"But—!" Lupin was on his feet now; he wasn't quite sure when he'd risen from the dilapidated old armchair, nor had he noticed the sound of shattering china as his teacup fell to the floor, spilling half-cooled tea all over the moth-eaten carpet.

"Moony – Remus, sit down," Sirius urged, tugging insistently on his sleeve. "At least let the man explain before—"

"Sirius, you don't understand—"

"Too right I don't," he said heatedly. "I don't understand at all what's got you all riled up. Yeah, having a soul-eating lizard-thing – if you'll pardon the term," he added, glancing in Urahara's direction. Seeing no overt signs of anger, he plowed on, "—Having a soul-eating lizard-thing at Hogwarts _could_ be bad, but it doesn't _have_ to be. I mean, no offense Moony, but _you_ were there for seven whole years, and nobody died _then_."

Lupin sank back into his chair, holding his head in trembling hands. "You don't – oh, Merlin…" He shook his head. "Sirius, those were the happiest years of my life, but also some of the most terrifying. That first year… for months I kept dreaming that I'd missed the schedule, that I hadn't made it to the Shrieking Shack in time… I was terrified that one day I'd wake up in the middle of the Forbidden Forest covered in blood. And then when Severus—" He broke off with an odd choking sound. "Merlin, I was so scared; if it hadn't been the last month of class, I would have dropped out right then and there. Perhaps I _should_ have, anyway." He took a deep shuddering breath. "That was when I decided. _Never again_. I'll admit, the Wolfsbane Potion took away many of my fears – that was the _only_ reason I agreed to return to Hogwarts to teach. But even still… it's too dangerous. I'm an adult, I can manage – but for a _child_… Living in constant terror of oneself is not a fate I would wish on anyone." He smiled bitterly. "Why do you think no more werewolf children have attended Hogwarts since then? Greyback certainly created enough of them in the last war. I've been… tutoring them."

Alastor's expression remained neutral, but Sirius gaped openly for several seconds before finally closing his mouth. "…Oh," he mumbled quietly. "I didn't… I guess I didn't think of that."

"No, I don't suppose you did." Lupin glanced over at Urahara, who was looking at him thoughtfully from behind the ever-present fan. "I'm a werewolf," he said bluntly. "Have been since I was a child. Werewolves are only violent during the full moon, but even so… You will forgive me if I find the prospect of something potentially even _more_ dangerous than a _werewolf_ staying at the school indefinitely to be terrifying."

The shopkeeper regarded him silently for several moments before sighing and closing the fan with a snap. "…Your fears are not entirely unfounded. Were Anzu-kun a normal Hollow of equal power, I would lead the hunt for him myself," he said grimly. "Fortunately for all of us, Shirosaki Anzu is about as far from a normal Hollow as it is possible to be."

"But you said—"

Urahara held up a hand, and Remus fell silent. "Let me explain. Anzu-kun _is_ a Hollow, but also… not. Not entirely, at least. He and Ichigo-kun form what is technically termed a class-II Vaizard – they are, quite literally, two sides of the same coin."

Sirius' brow furrowed. "Come again?"

The shopkeeper stared sadly into his cup of tea. "…I suppose in retrospect I should have foreseen the possibility. That was my first mistake, one I've regretted ever since. Neither process – Shinigamification and Hollowfication – had been studied in great detail. Not by me, at least. Combining them was foolhardy, but the theory worked out so _well_, and given his parentage… I hadn't considered…" He sighed heavily. "Ichigo's soul was always… fragile. Unstable. When it was put under extreme stress, it… fractured."

There was a collective shiver, despite the warmth of the room. Moody looked disturbed (though it was admittedly difficult to tell under the mass of scars) and Lupin looked distinctly ill, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the sleeves of his robes.

Black, however, merely frowned in confusion. "I don't get it."

His friend turned to stare. "Padfoot – how could you not – the boy's _soul_ is _fragmented_—"

"I got _that_," Sirius said, sounding slightly annoyed. "What I mean is, I don't understand _how_. He doesn't strike me as the type to even be able to _cast_ the Avada, never mind to do it often enough to cause that much damage."

Urahara frowned. "Pardon?"

The ex-con gave him a lopsided grin. "My family was called the 'Blacks' and not the 'Whites' for a reason, you know. My dear old Mum had us studying dark magic as soon as we were old enough to read." He shook his head. "Dark magic pulls from the worst in people. Damages the soul every time you use it. For most minor hexes and jinxes the damage is repairable – a good night's rest will make you right as rain again. Only the worst of magic – the Unforgiveables, Fiendfyre, blood curses, necromancy, that sort of thing – can cause serious cracks."

"Ah," Urahara murmured. "No, nothing of that sort. He always had very high reiatsu, even when he was alive. Living souls simply can't _handle_ that sort of power, not without an outlet, at least. Theoretically, he should have developed some manner of extrasensory ability – but given the absence of external stimuli, power that would have otherwise been directed outward simply _wasn't_." He sighed. "Any stressor would have been enough to cause damage, and… well. Even to a healthy soul, dying is _very_ traumatic."

"And you know that how?" Moody growled.

Urahara's shoulders seemed to sag slightly. "…I was present at the time."

The werewolf's jaw clenched. "And you _didn't_ _try_ _to_ _stop_—"

"No."

"But – but—" Lupin spluttered for several seconds, seemingly unable to formulate a complete thought. "But – _why_?"

He was silent for a long moment before replying. "…We were at war. Or soon to be, anyway. There was a traitor within the Goteijuusantai, though few knew of him yet. A man conspired to steal an object of immeasurable power – one which I unwittingly let fall right into his hands. The power to make desires a reality…" He shook his head bitterly. "The war was hopeless from the beginning. He was five steps ahead of us at every turn, and given that his own power made him nigh-untouchable… we _needed_ warriors who weren't susceptible to his influence. A wild card. Someone with enough power to actually stand a chance… and the drive to go to any lengths to succeed."

"Kurosaki," Moody rumbled.

Urahara's silence was answer enough.

"You put a child – a _child—_!" Remus spat. He was on his feet again, hands clenched into angry, trembling fists at his side. "How _could —_?"

"What choice did I have?" Urahara demanded. "What _should_ I have done, Lupin? Let that madman _win_?"

"Maybe you _should_ have, if—"

"He tried to sacrifice an entire city so he could assassinate the lynchpin of the universe and rewrite the laws of reality." Urahara's voice was completely devoid of emotion as he spoke, gazing steadily at the werewolf. "One hundred thousand souls, Lupin. Can you honestly tell me there are that many wizards in the entirety of the British Isles?"

Remus sank back into his chair, hands shaking uncontrollably. "…No, but…"

A faint, humorless smile flickered across Urahara's face. "I thought not. And that, of course, was merely the first of many battles." The smile faded and he sighed. "As horrible as Lord Voldemort is, as _evil_ as he is, as sick and twisted and depraved… he is still _human_. He seeks to destroy _human_ things, not unravel the fabric of the cosmos. I shudder to imagine what would have happened if we'd failed."

"But – but why would someone _do_ that? Why would someone _want_…?"

Urahara gestured vaguely in the air. "Who knows? A desire for power? Dissatisfaction with the existing system? An elaborate suicide plan? Megalomania? _Boredom_? No one seems to know – I certainly don't. I could usually predict _what_ he would do, but never _why_." He shrugged. "Historians will be debating it for millennia, I expect – he didn't leave any personal records, so we'll never really know for certain. I suspect it doesn't really matter all that much, anyway," he added. "Whatever his justification was, it doesn't change what was _done_. The fact remains that several hundred of our soldiers and an untold number of civilians are dead because of what he did, and the only reason that number isn't any higher is because Ichigo ran a sword through his heart."

Lupin mouthed silently for several seconds. Sirius made put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Look, Moony—"

The werewolf abruptly stood, shrugging off the attempt at physical contact. "I – I think…" He swallowed. "I need to think. I can't – I don't – not right now, I…"

Still muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he staggered off, the barrier around the door rippling as he passed through.

Sirius watched him go, hand hovering awkwardly in midair. After a moment he let it fall back to his side, and turned to the other two, smiling uncomfortably. "He'll be – Moony'll be okay. He's just… he's never really liked… well. Death and destruction and all that, it's not something he really likes to…" He trailed off with a shrug. "I – I'll talk to him. He'll come 'round, you'll see. "

And he left, chasing after his friend.

Urahara sighed and took the hat from his head, running a weary hand through his hair. Really, he should have expected… _He _hadn't _wanted_ this to happen. Kami knew he needed _their_ help just as much as _they_ needed _his_. He shouldn't have – they simply weren't accustomed to the sheer _scale_ of it all. But… damn it all, Lupin had _asked for it_.

He'd never been _proud_ of his manipulations, but he wasn't exactly _ashamed_ either. If the well-being of one soul had to be sacrificed to ensure the continued existence of billions others – the sacrifice had to be made. He'd have made it himself, if he could. What other options were there? Unpleasant as that whole business had been, it had been _necessary_, no two ways about it. He _knew_ that… and he was fairly certain Ichigo knew it, too.

Moody's normal eye lingered on the doorway for a moment before flickering back to Urahara. "Don't worry," he said gruffly. "Lupin's a smart man, but he tends to think with his heart, not his head. Give him a few minutes to cool off."

Kisuke smiled thinly. "I certainly hope so. I'd hate to offend my hosts. It would make for a very awkward few months if I have."

Alastor snorted. "Unlikely. It takes quite a lot of effort to get Lupin to actually _hate_ someone." He was silent for a few seconds before asking, "I take it you won, then?"

The shopkeeper nodded, suddenly looking very tired. "…It was a close thing, at the end. If it had dragged on much longer, I doubt we would have succeeded. As it was, we lost several senior officers, including the old soutaichou – the man was well over three thousand, and… well. There _are_ reasons Shinigami rarely live that long. Well over five hundred unseated officers lost their lives, and countless civilians – one of his favorite distractions involved setting powerful Hollows loose in the far districts, where we couldn't get to them in time."

Moody grunted and glanced back at the abandoned file-folder. "So who was he, then? Your enemy, I mean."

Kisuke paused before replying, absently swirling the tea around in its cup. "Sousuke Aizen, formerly Captain of the Fifth Division. Currently dead. _Very_ dead. And I, for one, am very much happier for it."

He set the teacup aside with another sigh – the contents had long since cooled, anyway – and stood, walking over to one of the large crates. He glanced sideways at Moody. "You seem very calm about all this," he commented, as he sorted through the box's contents. He was sure he'd seen it before… ah-ha, there it was.

Moody snorted derisively. "I'm just better at handling it. I saw what happened under Grindelwald – and under You-Know-Who, for that matter – and I was on the auror force for nearly forty years. I've seen damn near everything the magical world has to offer – few depths of human depravity surprise me anymore."

"Oh?"

"You've never raided a necromancer's lair midway through the Thirteen Sacraments of Aforgomon ritual, have you?"

"Can't say I have."

"Count yourself lucky, then." He hesitated for a second before continuing, "My primary concern is the boggart. It looked an _awful lot_ like Kurosaki, and I'd rather like to know if one of our allies might turn on us. Tends to be unhealthy."

Urahara straightened and turned to face the auror. "_That_, I can assure you, will _not_ happen."

The auror frowned. "You're sure?"

"_Very_. They would rather kill themselves than ever let _that_ happen again."

"And what _was_ that, exactly?"

Urahara grimaced and returned to the crate. "One of the unforeseen consequences I mentioned earlier. The fracture in their soul left them… vulnerable to certain forces. Especially considering they were once at odds with each other. It will _not_ happen again."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"It's enough to know that it won't happen again."

Moody sneered. "And _how_ do you know that? What if—"

Urahara straightened again, this time holding a metal box covered in glass panels and several knobs and dials. "There are contingency plans in place. I hope they'll never be needed, but if they are…" He shoved a few loose papers and the abandoned folder aside and set the box down, probably less delicately than he had meant to. "It will be _dealt with_."

Moody's normal eye narrowed. "Could you take him down if you had to?"

Kisuke paused, midway through adjusting one of the dials on the box, and glared at the auror for several seconds before replying. "…No. It would probably require at least three high-level Shinigami to subdue them if they went all out. Fortunately, the emergency measures do not rely on physical power and can be activated remotely. And _no_," he added irritably, seeing Moody open his mouth to ask another question, "I will _not_ tell you how to activate it. That's strictly _need to know_, and you most certainly do _not_."

The auror grimaced, but said no more. Silence reigned in the library for several moments, broken only by the soft beeps of the machine sitting on the desk.

"What is that thing?" Moody asked at last, when several panels flashed and it started emitting a loud, high-pitched whine.

"A radiation amplifying multipurpose digital spiritometer," Urahara said, keeping his tone deliberately light. "Seems there's a lot of interference – can't get a good neutral reading…"

"That'd be from the house," Moody said. "It's under the Fidelius charm and Merlin knows how many other enchantments – the whole building's magically saturated."

The shopkeeper hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps…" He twisted another knob. The spiritometer's flashing lights and whine came to an abrupt halt. Then there was a loud _crack_ from somewhere inside the machine, accompanied by a burst of blue sparks that left dark burns on the tabletop.

Urahara swore and turned back to the nearest crate, rooting around for something inside.

"Electricity won't work here, you know," Moody drawled.

"My equipment doesn't _use_ electricity," Urahara snapped. He straightened again, this time holding a small toolkit and a length of thin, silvery wire. "If you _really_ must know, it utilizes minor differences in spiritual pressure to generate spiritron flow, which can then be used to transfer energy to various devices and—"

"Right, right, not electricity, got it," Moody said hastily. "Forget I said anything." He frowned. "What are you working on, then?"

"_That_." Kisuke pointed to a small package on the corner of the table, nearly wrapped in brown cloth. "A rather curious little artifact. Absorbs energy, you understand. Rather violently."

Moody glanced at it, then back at the shopkeeper. "And idea what it is?"

"No. Which is something I intend to rectify." He worked quickly and efficiently, carefully removing the set of tiny screws keeping the back panel in place, exposing the mess of wires inside. One of these was blackened and charred – which at least explained what had caused the sparks.

As he worked at replacing the damaged wire, he said, "Now, I believe you owe me some answers, correct?"

The auror grimaced, but made no objection.

Urahara took this as a sign to continue. "What can you tell me about this Voldemort person?"

"What's there to tell?" Moody grumbled after a moment. "Man tried to eliminate all the muggleborns in Britain. Personally tortured and killed several dozen witches and wizards, as well as being directly responsible for about three hundred other deaths. And that's not counting all the muggle casualties. Highly dangerous as well – he's arguably the most powerful Dark wizard in modern history, too. Either him or Grindelwald, but most of the fight against Grindelwald took place on the continent."

Urahara hummed thoughtfully. "Dangerous how?"

Alastor frowned. "There's a lot of power behind his spells, and very, very skilled. Especially fond of the Killing Curse, obviously – and the other Unforgivables as well, naturally. Fiendfyre is another favorite of his. Hellfire, as it's also known; the name's pretty damn accurate. He's been known to dabble in necromancy too – he had a virtual army of Inferi during the last war, and wasn't particularly averse to using them, either. So far as I know, though, he's never used the darker necromantic spells," he added. "Probably considers relying on summoned beasts as 'beneath' him, thank Merlin." He paused, leaning back in his chair and stretching his wooden leg out on the carpet before continuing. "That aside, knows an awful lot of Dark magic. For that matter, I wouldn't be surprised if he knows more about magic in general than just about anyone – except maybe Dumbledore. Certainly knows enough about it to start _creating_ spells, at least. Has some skill with wandless magic as well – particularly Legilimency, and probably its sister art of Occlumency, too."

"Pardon?"

"Mind-magics."

"Ah." Urahara carefully replaced the last of the screws and flipped the machine right-side up. "You've fought him before, I take it."

Moody grunted. "We all did. Right nightmare it was, too." He reached into the sleeve of his robes and withdrew a silver flask. He took a long draught from this before continuing. "There's long been a – I suppose you'd call it a 'sentiment' – among certain factions of the Wizarding population." He gestured to the surrounding shelves. "Families like the Blacks. Idea was that wizards without any muggle blood in them were somehow better than the rest. A load of hippogriff dung, if you ask me, but… well. Enough wizards and witches believed in it to follow You-Know-Who. I suspect the offer of unlimited power was tempting too."

He sighed and took another swig from his flask. "Anyway, he gathered up a bunch of like-minded followers and started trying to seize control of the Ministry. Political methods didn't work – comparatively few wizards buy into the pureblood philosophy these days – so… he turned to more overt methods. 'Dissuading' muggleborn children from attending Hogwarts. Using the Imperius Curse to make people turn on their loved ones. Either arranging for convenient 'disappearances' or outright torturing and murdering of those who opposed them, including civilians. _Especially_ civilians. Soon enough giants and rogue werewolves were brought in. The body count went up faster than a cursed broomstick. It was a full-on revolt. Dark times, those were."

Urahara glanced sideways. "How did it end?"

"We won. Sort of. You-Know-Who disappeared after he attacked the Potter family, killed James and Lily, and for whatever reason failed to kill the child."

"I imagine that stung. Any particular reason why?" Urahara asked, once more calibrating the various dials and knobs.

The auror hesitated, his magical eye sweeping over the room as though checking for eavesdroppers. "…There's a – a prophecy. I don't know the full contents – nobody does, aside from Dumbledore – but it concerns the two of them. But whatever it was, it was worth hunting down a family of very competent wizards while they were under the protection of the Fidelius Charm, so…" He shrugged. "Must have been important to him, at least."

Urahara grimaced. "Oh dear. Prophecies are never fun. Ichigo-kun will throw a fit."

Moody raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"He is… not fond of them. At all. Bad prior experience, I suppose you could say." He carefully unwrapped the cloth bundle, revealing a heavy, dirty gold locket. "And what of the spell? From what I understand, it's supposed to be unblockable."

Alastor nodded. "It is. There's no stopping the _Avada Kedavra_, no blocking it. The result is instantaneous death if it hits. Merlin only knows how Potter survived."

"Hmm… Can you demonstrate the spell?" Urahara asked.

The magical eye stopped swiveling for a moment to join its partner in staring.

"Not on _me_, obviously," Kisuke said hastily, setting the locket down beside the spiritometer. "I doubt it would work, but I'd rather not find out personally in case it actually _does_. I must admit I'm curious. Very few things have that effect – the soul is anchored to the body, and generally can't be removed by human means – not if the body's still in working order. The things that _do_…" he trailed off with a shrug. "They tend to be… _very_ dangerous, particularly to the living."

Moody snorted. "_Obviously_, if they're anything like the _Killing Curse_." He sighed. "…I could," he admitted after a moment. "We were authorized to use them during the last war – but that doesn't mean I like it. I'm afraid I don't know much about how it works, though – if you want to know that, your best bet is to ask Black or Snape, if you can get ahold of him."

Urahara glanced sideways at him. "Who is Snape?"

"You haven't met him. He's a spy for the Order. He knows more about Dark magic than just about anyone else we've got," Moody said.

Kisuke smiled. "Oh, _him_. Excellent, I needed to get in contact with him anyway – when will he be back here?"

Moody shrugged. "Hard to say. He's a professor at Hogwarts – not for quite some time, I imagine. Why?"

"Pity. I'd like to follow up on some theories concerning Voldemort, and reiatsu samples are very difficult to collect remotely," Urahara said sadly, returning his attention to his experiment. He placed the locket on a thin metal plate, which had wires trailing from it to the now-fixed spiritometer. After a few more adjustments, he flipped one final switch and the panels lit up and the machine began emitting a low, gentle hum.

"…I see," the auror said after a moment. "I'll see what I can do."

Urahara looked vaguely relieved. "Thank you. Please let me know as soon as possible." He turned back to the desk and began rearranging the stacks of papers that covered the tabletop.

Moody raised a gnarled eyebrow at the clear dismissal. "Was there anything else?"

"…Yes. There's something I don't understand," Kisuke said after a moment. "If the Dark arts damage the soul, why would someone _want_ to use it?"

"Best guess? For the power," Moody admitted. "Dark magic is very, very strong. There's a certain allure to it, and for some – the benefits must outweigh the costs. You-Know-Who hardly even looks _human_ anymore, but he's probably the strongest wizard in modern history."

Urahara sighed. "I was afraid of that," he muttered. He waved vaguely at the doorway, and the barrier vanished. "Well, I daresay you've given me enough to think about, and it's getting rather late," he added, glancing at the clock mounted above the fireplace. "I'll contact you when I have more questions."

Alastor stood, stretching, and lumbered over to the door. He paused in the entrance and turned around, regarding the ex-captain with narrow eyes. "What did you mean earlier, when you said you didn't think the _Avada_ would work on you?"

Urahara gave a sardonic little smile. "My good sir, it is my experience that things meant to kill generally do not work if the target is already _dead_."

An odd expression crossed Moody's face and he shook his head. "…Right."

* * *

_Useful translations:_

_subarashii - excellent, fantastic, etc._

_genshi - atom_

_Muzen - from 無 + 全; roughly, the absence of everything_

_Ei no Musubime - from 永 + 結び目; roughly, infinite knot (variant of the endless knot, which appears in Tibetan Buddhism and has analogues elsewhere)_

* * *

_Greetings to you all!_

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Sakurayuuki19, Mel7200, DelVarO, CrossoverxToxThexDarkxSide, KitElizaKing, K. A. Raith, Love Psycho, Ciekawa Osoba, Kuroi Kokoro 99, reality deviant, MoonClaimed, PeppermintWinds, Midnayuki, Servent Satsujinki, Katy Loves Anime, mauralucky7, Morte Cacciatore, Masked Bard of Chaos, Basia Orci, Joe, HappyFestus, Jigoku no Yami, Sypher14, Strawberryfunsized, SeanHicks4, Slayer End, Maverick14th, asredwer, IchigoMoonCutter, One of the Colorless, Qwerty321, Mist of Rainbows, xxserafinxx, ephemeral violet, 10th Squad 3rd Seat, mist shadow, Ruby Silken Sun, Dark Dragon God, Wolfended, Santoka, FEIGN, Jiyle, erindolphin91, lovelymoongoddesserena, PikaSilver-Moon, MeltedsnowFlake, totellThetruth, Selenay of Antioch, Ixcall it karma, Zarosian Chaos, me encantas, Allyieh, sama-chan, phill503, bookivore, KuroitsukiNoMai, xxxWhite-Wing13xxx, SoI'llKillYou, LastManStang616, Manic Dogma, Jman12394, God of sugar, Mistress Zhou, WolfsTrinity-TSO, I Before A Except After K, Deamonslayer576, Elivira, TheMysticalFett, person, BlueMirage, Iniora Nackatori, Cat, Isis36, PoisonElixir, fancyfairy, Chindu Prince Of Darkness, Hypothetical Spiritual Entity, Chi-tanda, killroy225, Junpaku Karasu, Lightningblade49, LiveToTell, Twilightdragoness, DeathRider25, FireRaven99, hersheybarrules, flarsanzian, noxnemo, DRAGON, sweetchill, Junko, Guest #1, 3Alaska3, Shironami-Whitewave, Guest #2, DGtnsl, Timmyghost, MojoJojo93, Tomsbestbuddy, rqgenevieve, BlackGryphon101, DamionKenley117, Dyani91, BlackRoseFire, pucflek and reader713 for your lovely reviews! You all have my deepest thanks._

_I'm afraid it's becoming something of a habit to start these notes out with an apology. Perhaps I _do_ have a tendency to overapologize, but I'm fairly certain it's warranted in this case. So, here it is:_

**_I am very, very, very, [...] _very_ sorry for how long this damn interlude has taken to come out. _**

_Five months (and a day) is _not_ a record I'm proud of. It's not even a __particularly _long_ one, and there's pretty much no plot progression whatsoever (alternate titles include: "And Now For Something Completely Different" and "In Which There Is Much Expositing"), so I wouldn't be surprised if the collective readership decided to track me down and attack me with pitchforks (Note: Please do not track me down and attack me with pitchforks). _

_Best I can offer as reasons for the delay are being out of the country for two months (and being stuck with a seven inch bluetooth keyboard that does _not_ work well and a word processor that likes to quit at arbitrary intervals), university-related chaos (one of my professors apparently misplaced one of my papers, resulting in an undeserved fail mark, which meant I had to try and get of a hold of the guy while he was apparently away on vacation - for all of July and August), even_ more_ univeristy-related chaos (making sure all my classes/credits are in order so I can actually graduate in the spring), and the fact that this interlude was an absolute monster to write. I swear I've had at least eight different versions of this thing floating around at one point or another. The thing just did _not_ want to cooperate - and it shows._

_Oy vey._

_I'll be honest: I hate this thing. Loathe it, even. What I wouldn't have given to be able to skip it and just write chapter nineteen - but unfortunately, the conversation of _this_ thing is a plot point-ish thing in Ch.19, and it's contents will undoubtedly show up at some point or another in the (very distant) future. At this point, however, I am well and truly fed up with fighting this thing, (really, I probably didn't do the whole 'read through and catch mistakes' thing well enough because I was tired of looking at it - this is probably a bad sign), so... well, here it is, in all its horrible, completely-pointless glory._

_Yeesh. Maybe I'll come back at a later date and try to salvage it, but not tonight._

_With regards to Chapter 19... I have no idea. I'd _like_ to have it done by the end of October; in light of recent writing difficulties, this seems overly ambitious (even if I _am_ rather excited to actually be doing something other than this bloody interlude), so perhaps November is a better guess. As per usual, take this date with a (large) grain of salt. Quasi-progress info will again be posted on my profile page._

_As always, click the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment - wait, no, I can't use that one anymore. Type in that little box at the bottom of the page if you wish to leave a comment?_

_Much love,  
Nesarna  
9/23/12_

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_PS. Knew I forgot something. Enjoy! You all deserve it._

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_PPS. In case the above doesn't show up/is mangled (as I have no idea how FF.N handles ASCII "art"), everyone gets Internet Cake for helping this fic pass the 1000 reviews, 1000 favorites, and 1000 story alerts marks. Thank you all so much!_


	15. Butterfly's Delivery Service

_Hah! I'm back! TAKE THAT, YOU DAMN WRITER'S BLOCK!_

_Ahem. _

_This _is_ chapter fourteen, and not the interlude chapter I said I would post. Reasons for the change are detailed in the Author's Note at the bottom of the page, should you be inclined to read it._

_Also, if all you did was click the forward arrow, you missed the full version of Chapter Thirteen. Please go back and read it._

_Thanks,  
Nesarna_

_PS. I'm an idiot and apparently uploaded chapter thirteen twice. My apologies for the confusion, I _think_ it's been fixed now._

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done solely for my own entertainment purposes.**

**IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still isn't mine.**

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Fourteenth

-0-

Ichigo's alarm went off precisely at five o' clock the next morning. He rolled over, pulling the blankets tighter over his head in a desperate attempt to fall back to sleep. He glared daggers at the shrill, beeping contraption on the bedside, seriously considering blasting the stupid thing to hell.

Too bad soul phones were so goddamn expensive these days.

He sat up with a yawn and shut the annoying contraption off, rubbing his eyes tiredly. It was still dark outside as he climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers. Keeping quiet so as not to disturb his still-snoring roommates (how they could have slept through the phone's alarm was a mystery for another day), Ichigo climbed down the stairs to the common room. The Fat Lady grumbled slightly in protest as he moved aside her portrait on the way out, but otherwise the castle was completely still and silent as he made his way down to the Entrance Hall. He hoped to find a secluded location on somewhere on the grounds that he and Shiro could use as a sparring area. He hadn't been joking when he'd said that between Grimmjow and Kenpachi, going a full year without training would be tantamount to suicide, because _they_ certainly would and their skill levels were close enough as it was.

…That was the plan, anyway. Unfortunately, said plan had fallen apart when he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere around the fifth floor.

He swore loudly and slammed his fist into the nearest wall, and was mildly satisfied at the crack that appeared in the masonry. "Chikushou!"

A nearby portrait of a fat man in an ascot jerked awake. "I say, lad, do keep it down… some of us are trying to sleep, you know…" he muttered blearily.

Ichigo ignored him. "Dammit all, I _know_ I've passed that suit of armor already… Why the hell does this damned castle have to be so fucking hard to _navigate_?"

"I fear we must blame Lady Rowena for that, m'boy," said a voice behind him, and Ichigo turned around to see a pearly-white figure in a fine, embroidered coat. "The shifting architecture was her idea; inconvenient, perhaps, but it _is_ a rather ingenious piece of magic." He straightened the high collar of his doublet. "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service."

Ichigo tried not to stare. _This_ was one of the ghosts…? "Ichigo Kurosaki. Hajimemashite, Nicholas-san."

Nicholas waved a hand dismissively, but could not quite hide the smile on his face. "Ah, you must be the famed transfer student. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Kurosaki."

"It's just Ichigo, if you don't mind," he muttered. "I _hate_ formalities."

Nicholas laughed. "Very well then. What are you doing down here this early in the morning? It was my understanding that youngsters such as yourself preferred to sleep at this time of day."

Ichigo scowled. "I was _trying_ to get down to the grounds… I think I made a wrong turn somewhere."

"Indeed," Nicholas said, sounding amused. "Considering this corridor leads to the old Astronomy Tower, which I feel obligated to tell you is quite entirely out-of-bounds except for classes."

"I see. Well, it's a good thing you came along then." Ichigo glanced outside; the sun was just peeking over the distant mountaintops, streaking the sky with pink and gold. "…Damn, is it that late already? I should get back to the tower."

"You're in Gryffindor, aren't you?" Nicholas asked, floating along beside him as Ichigo took off down the corridor at random.

"Aa."

"Well in that case, you're headed the wrong way. The tower entrance is the _West_ wing, not the East," Nicholas said placidly, pointing in the opposite direction.

Ichigo flushed. "…Shimatta."

Nicholas chuckled. "I don't suppose you know the way back yet, do you?" He sighed and shook his head dramatically. "Very well then, follow me."

"…Thanks," Ichigo muttered a few moments later as the old knight led him unerringly through the halls and up staircases towards the seventh floor.

Nicholas smiled. "It's no trouble. I'm always happy to help members of my own house." At the Shinigami's raised eyebrow, he continued, "I was a Gryffindor myself when I was alive, and now I'm the resident ghost."

Ichigo's brow furrowed. "Demo…" _He doesn't even _feel_ like a Plus, never mind a jibakurai. The reiatsu's completely wrong…_

_Hn,_ Shiro muttered in agreement. _Feels more like… mebbe a gikongan?_

The Shinigami nodded slightly. _Aa, that's closer… It would explain the lack of chain of fate. _"How long have you been the Gryffindor ghost, Nicholas-san?"

The 'ghost' laughed lightly. "I've been the Ghost of Gryffindor Tower for quite some time, I celebrated my five hundredth deathday just a few years ago."

Ichigo stopped dead in his tracks. "You've been dead… for _five_ _hundred_ _years_?"

Nicholas flushed silver. "Oh, it's nothing that special, you know… the Baron and the Grey Lady are both well over a thousand."

Ichigo stared. _Okay, I might be willing to accept fourteen years of non-Hollowfication as possible, but _five hundred_? There's no way…_

'_Is Chain _is_ gone, though,_ Shiro muttered. _Mebbe that 'as somethin' ta do with it?_

…_We _definitely_ need to contact Hat-'n'-Clogs as soon as possible._

_Agreed._

At last Sir Nicholas came to a halt before the portrait of the fat woman in the pink satin dress, who was still dozing against the picture frame. "Well, here we are."

"Right. Thanks," Ichigo said again, clapping the 'ghost' on the shoulder.

Nicholas froze, staring wide-eyed as the orange-haired teenager disappeared through the portrait hole. "H-how…" He paled as realization hit him, turning almost transparent in shock. "My word… a Reaper."

-0-

Seamus Finnigan sped past him as Ichigo opened the door to the fifth-year boy's dormitory.

"What's his problem?" he muttered as Finnigan disappeared down the spiral staircase.

"Dunno," Harry said loudly so that Seamus could hear. "Maybe he thinks he'll turn into a nutter too if he stays in a room with me too long."

Dean shot the black-haired wizard an apologetic smile as he also headed out the door. "Don't worry about it Harry, he's just…" he trailed off, shrugging hopelessly.

Harry snorted contemptuously as Thomas left. "Yeah, right," he muttered under his breath. He glanced at Ichigo. "Where were you?"

The Shinigami raised an eyebrow as he pulled on his robe. "Just exploring the castle. That's not a crime, is it?"

Harry flushed, and said nothing more as the remaining they and Ron descended into the common room. Hermione rushed over to greet them.

"Good morning, I hope—" Her eyes fell on Harry. "Harry? What's the matter? You look absolutely awful," she said as they all climbed through the portrait hole.

Harry stayed silent.

"Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who," Ron muttered.

Hermione sighed. "Yes, Lavender seems to think so too…"

"Been having a nice chat about how I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?" Harry snapped.

"No," Hermione replied in a tone of forced calm. "I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down Ron's and my throats, Harry, because if you haven't noticed, _we're on your side_. Ichigo too, though I don't think you've tried to attack him yet—"

The Shinigami smirked. "And good thing too, or else he'd be paying a visit to the hospital early this year."

Hermione smiled faintly. "Yes, I suppose that's true… Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the leaving feast last year? About You-Know-Who? '_His gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust—_'"

"How the bloody hell do you remember stuff like that?" Ron interrupted, staring at her.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I _listen_, Ron. Anyway—"

"So do I, but I still couldn't tell you exactly what—"

"_The point_," Hermione continued loudly, "Is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who's not been back for three months yet and already we've started fighting amongst ourselves. The Sorting Hat said the same thing – stand together, be united—"

"If that means we're supposed to get all chummy with the Slytherins, fat chance," Ron said.

Hermione sniffed in disapproval. "Well, _I_ for one think it's a pity we're not trying for more inter-House unity."

"It's not always that easy," Ichigo said quietly. "You can't make a thousand years' worth of bad blood just disappear overnight, even for something as big as Voldemort." He shook his head. "Trust me. I've tried."

Hermione raised an eyebrow inquiringly, but he said no more on the subject. She pursed her lips as the four of them entered the Great Hall, where the ceiling overhead reflected the leaden color of the clouds above. Harry was immediately accosted by a dark-skinned girl with her hair in braids.

"Hey, Potter," she said. "Good summer?" And without waiting for a reply, she continued, "Look, I've been made Quidditch captain—"

Harry grinned. "That's great!"

"—Yeah, well – we need a new Keeper, now that Wood's left, and I want the whole team there at tryouts. You know, so we'll know how the new person will fit in."

He nodded. "Okay. When are—"

"Friday, at five o'clock. You'll be there?"

"Definitely."

She smiled and left, black braids swinging wildly.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "Who was that?"

"Angelina Johnson," Harry answered. "It's good she's been made captain of the Gryffindor team. I'd been wondering who was going to replace Wood…"

They made their way down to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Neville, who had apparently come down earlier. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all shot nervous glances up at the staff table, where Professor Grubbly-Plack was talking to a tall, dark-haired witch in glasses.

While the three of them leaned in to talk quietly about some man named 'Hagrid,' Ichigo grabbed a mug and a nearby pot of coffee.

"Ohayou," he muttered, casting about the table for other ingredients and ultimately selecting milk, honey, and something that looked suspiciously like strawberry jam. "Sleep well?"

Neville nodded slowly, apparently caught off guard by his sudden shift in disposition. "Yeah, I guess so… what are you doing?"

"Coffee," he replied shortly, still hunting around the table for something. "Don't suppose they have chili powder, do they? Ah well." He spotted a bottle of Tabasco sauce near a bowl of eggs and added it to the pile of ingredients, all of which he promptly dumped into the mug. Neville stared at him as he took a long draught of the concoction and set it back down on the table, an expression of mild contentment on his face.

"What in Merlin's name…" he started, peering at the cup. The contents were bubbling sluggishly.

Ichigo smirked. "It's an Inoue Special. Boosts energy and mental agility and is surprisingly palatable."

Neville blanched. "Coffee, milk, honey, jam, and _hot sauce_? You consider _that_ edible?"

"Considering it was created by the girl who regularly mixes cold spaghetti, grape jelly, guacamole and red bean paste… yes, yes I do."

"He's telling the truth, Neville," Ron told him from across the table, grinning at the sight of Neville's face turning green. "He stayed with us this summer, made it every morning. Mum was terrified the first time, thought he was trying to poison himself."

There was a great clattering from overhead and hundreds of owls flew into the Hall. A great barn owl landed next to Neville, a large package tied to its leg. The round-faced boy looked sheepish as he pulled it off. "Looks like Gran's sent the things I forgot again."

"'Least she didn't send you a Howler this time," Ron said consolingly, patting him on the back.

Neville shuddered. "Good point…"

Ichigo quirked an eyebrow. "What's a Howler?"

"It's a letter that shouts at you. Mum sent me one once, bloody terrible. The thing'll explode if you don't open it, so you've got to," Ron explained as a tawny owl landed beside Hermione, a rolled newspaper clutched in its beak.

Harry glared at the paper as she put a bronze coin into a pouch on the owl's leg and it took back off into the air. "What are you still getting that for? Load of rubbish, I say."

"Yes, well… It's better to know what the enemy is thinking," she said darkly, and was about to disappear behind it when a black butterfly floated past and landed delicately on the jug of orange juice directly in front of Ichigo. "What on Earth…?" she trailed off as the first butterfly was followed quickly by a massive swarm of the fluttering black insects.

Ichigo looked vaguely nonplussed at the mass of butterflies that crowded the table and covered every available surface. _What the hell…? We've only been gone a month…_

"Er, Ichigo? What's all this?" Harry asked, gesturing at the wriggling black swarm, which had already attracted the attention of a good portion of the Gryffindor table.

He shook his head distractedly. "It's… homework from, uh… my old school," he said hastily. "Just 'cause I'm here for the year doesn't mean I can skip out on all the work back home."

"Yeah, but… why _butterflies_?" Ron wondered, bewildered. "I mean, they can't carry much, can they? How would they deliver letters and packages and stuff?"

Ichigo shrugged. "They're mostly used for verbal messages, a bit like a phone or a walkie-talkie," he explained patiently, letting one of the butterflies climb onto his fingertip. "But some of them…" He snapped his fingers, and the air in front of the butterfly distorted. To the others' utter amazement, what seemed to be a thin black _line_ appeared, stretching between the insect's antennae. With his free hand Ichigo tapped the line, and it immediately expanded a good six inches on either side, then split in two and expanded again. It looked like someone had… simply _cut_ through the fabric of the universe in that spot, making a window into another dimension. Harry peered inside; all he could see was swirling black nothingness.

"Wicked," Ron breathed as the Shinigami reached through the window and pulled out a thick folder. Another tap on the edge of the window and it collapsed back in on itself, and the butterfly fluttered away.

Ichigo smirked at their amazed expressions. "And some of them… do _that_."

Hermione rounded on him. "How does that work? I've never seen a spell like that."

He frowned, repeating the process with another butterfly, to the great fascination of those around him. "It's not actually a spell, but hell if I know how the biotechnology works. The gist of it is that the butterfly functions as a sort of space-time bubble and if you know how you can open it and access the pocket dimension inside… or something," he shrugged. "I gave up trying to understand when Kurotsuchi started going on about multidimensional-interface neural-networking quasiphysics."

Harry, Ron, and Neville all wore glazed expressions, but Hermione frowned. "That's impossible. Nobody's _ever_ been able to construct a free interspace-seam before, not even Dumbledore. And the Muggle method of even _opening_ one would require so much energy…"

Ichigo shrugged again. "Like I said, I don't know how it works. You want a detailed explanation, ask Hat-'n'-Clogs."

Hermione pursed her lips. "The last time I tried that he wasn't exactly forthcoming."

"Aa, well…" He shifted uncomfortably, already moving on to the next butterfly. The memory of her numerous, persistent attempts to see a kidou demonstration would not soon fade from his mind. "You might have more luck this time. This sort of thing is right up his alley."

She hummed thoughtfully and disappeared back behind her newspaper. She did not emerge again until Ron and Harry had nearly finished breakfast and Ichigo had relieved about most of the black butterflies of their parcels. The stack of paperwork he'd managed to accumulate rose a good foot and a half off the tabletop.

"Does your school normally give out that much homework?" Neville asked in an awed voice as Ichigo crammed the fifteenth file folder into his bag (exactly how the small leather case managed to hold that much without exploding was another mystery).

"Nani? Ano – aa, I guess so. This is all the, er, material for this week. There shouldn't be any more, unless something major comes up…"

"This _week_?"

"Aa. There's… a lot of paperwork involved."

Neville just shook his head incredulously.

Professor McGonagall was walking up and down the table. To her credit she did not bat an eyelid at the small swarm of butterflies still perched all over the tableware. "Here you are," she said, passing them all schedules. Ichigo glanced at his; several spots where there should have been classes (if Harry and Ron's copies were anything to go by) were blank.

"Ano… sensei—"

"Professor Dumbledore has informed me that, as strictly speaking you are not enrolled in any elective classes, you are to have a free period during that time, during which you are not obligated to attend any lessons," she said stiffly. "However, he also encourages you to visit the various classes available during that period. If you find one you like, you will be allowed to enroll in it if you so choose."

Ichigo nodded. "Got it."

Hermione frowned. "But, Professor, won't he be in trouble if Mr. Filch catches him wandering the halls during classes?"

"Yes, we had thought of that," McGonagall agreed, reaching into her stack of papers to pull out a small square of parchment. "That is why the Headmaster has asked me to give you this."

Ichigo took it. The sheet had elaborate golden script on it that read, '_The bearer of this pass is permitted full and free use of the castle and grounds at the holder's discretion_.' A curly signature and wax seal were placed near the bottom.

_It doesn' say it's fer a specific time,_ Shiro breathed, his tone disbelieving. _Kami. 'E just gave us free reign o' the castle._

Ichigo blinked and reread the parchment. _…You're right. Holy shit._ He glanced back at McGonagall. "Arigatou, McGonagall-sensei. I won't lose it."

Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, but he could have sworn she was smiling. "Be sure you don't, Mr. Kurosaki. Good day to you all."

She swept on further down the table towards Dean and Seamus.

Ichigo looked down at the pass in his hand, still slightly numb with shock. Ron, however, was examining his schedule.

"Look at today," he groaned despairingly, waving the sheet of parchment around. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, double Defense Against the Dark Arts… It's got to be the worst Monday in the history of Mondays. Wish Fred and George'd hurry on up with those Skiving Snackboxes of theirs…"

"Do mine ears deceive me?" Fred called cheerfully, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and squeezing himself down at the table amid the flutter of black butterflies. "Hogwart's prefects surely don't want to skive off lessons, do they?"

"Surely not," agreed George, sitting down next to Harry, who scooted over to give him more room. "One wonders how such a thought even entered our heads. Why are there butterflies on the table?"

Ron glared at him. "Long story. More importantly, look at what we've got today," he said, shoving his schedule under George's nose. "That's got to be the single most horrible Monday I've ever seen."

"Fair point," George observed, scanning the column. "Well, you can have some Nosebleed Nougat on the cheap if you like."

"Why's it cheap?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"'Cause you'll keep bleeding 'til you shrivel up, we haven't found an antidote yet," Fred said brightly.

Ron grimaced. "Think I'll pass, thanks."

George shrugged. "Suit yourself. You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, though. You're starting the fifth year, and that means O.W.L.s are coming up. They'll be keeping your noses so hard to the grindstone you'll be begging for some Nosebleed Nougat before the end of it, mark my words."

"Half our year had minor breakdowns near the end," Fred continued fondly. "Tears and tantrums… Patricia Simmons kept coming over faint and Kenneth Towler broke out in boils, remember?"

"That was 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pajamas," George reminded him cheerfully. "Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth. If you care about exam results, anyway. We certainly didn't, and it was still absolutely miserable."

"Too true," agreed Fred. He clapped his brother on the shoulder and they both stood up. "Well, we'd better get going. If we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology… Later, you lot."

"We should be going too," Hermione said, glancing at her watch as Fred and George walked away, each carrying a tottering tower of toast. "It's nearly nine now, and Professor Binns's classroom is up on the fourth floor."

The four of them stood up, the last few butterflies fluttering away and out through an open window as they waved good-bye to Neville, who had opted to finish his toast before leaving. "What're O.W.L.s?" Ichigo asked as they climbed the great marble staircase in the Entrance Hall.

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels," Hermione explained. "It's a standardized test… determines what classes you can continue and what jobs you can apply for and everything. Don't they have something like it in your school?"

The Shinigami nodded in understanding. "Oh, yeah, we do. Apart from the entrance exam—"

"You have to take an _entrance exam_?" Ron repeated disbelievingly.

"—There's one at the end of third year, it's a lot like the O.W.L.s I guess. Has the same purpose, anyway. And there's also an exit exam at the end of sixth year."

Hermione frowned. "You take your O.W.L.s after only three years? Why on Earth would you do that? I mean, three years' worth of study is hardly a lot…"

Ichigo shrugged. "It's not like they expect you to pull off upper-level kidou or demonstrate shikai, though that's always a plus. It's more along the lines of seeing where the students' abilities are focused, and to figure out whether or not it's worth continuing to train them. After you get the results, you have to declare your specialty to the Board of Directors."

"'Specialty?' What's that?" Ron asked.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Ichigo replied as they took a shortcut through a tapestry of a scrawny, red-haired wizard riding a dragon. "The hope is that you get really, _really_ good at it for when you graduate. While being a balanced… er, wizard is important, they'd really just prefer it if you're excellent at one or two things, rather than mediocre at everything."

"Oh… wait, so then what's yours?" Harry asked. "You're in your fourth year, aren't you? You'd have picked one by now…"

"Practical Combat and Intercultural Relations," he said as they stepped into the classroom, where most of the other students were already seated and chatting to their neighbors. "With emphasis on zanjutsu and hakuda. Sword arts and hand-to-hand," he clarified on seeing their confused expressions.

Hermione frowned as the four of them took seats near the back. "So you aren't studying magic at all now, then?"

Ichigo shook his head. "I said _emphasis_ on zanjutsu and hakuda. I still have to be able to do up to Hadou thirty-three and Bakudou thirty without the incantation. And without blowing myself up in the process," he added under his breath, looking annoyed.

"That doesn't sound like much…"

"Trust me, it is. I know a guy who graduated about fifty years ago and he _still_ can't do _Shakkahou_ without it exploding in his face, even _with_ the full incantation."

The bell rang to signal the start of class, and the students all went back to their seats and settled down. Another silvery not-ghost floated through the blackboard at the front, took his place at the podium, shuffled a set of transparent notes, and without preamble began reading in a dry voice that sounded rather like an out-of-tune radio.

Within ten minutes, nearly all of the class had fallen into some sort of dazed stupor. Harry had a dim sense that he might have actually appreciated the current topic – Giant Wars – in the hands of a better teacher, but as it was he spent the rest of the lesson playing hangman with Ron on a corner of his parchment. Ichigo, meanwhile, had taken out the stack of papers that had been delivered via butterfly that morning and was busy signing his way through them with an efficiency that would make even the most dedicated of office drones green with envy.

Hermione pursed her lips and shot the three of them irritable glares until the booming bell echoed through the halls again an hour and a half later. The sound seemed to have broken whatever thrall Binns's voice held over the students, for at once there was a great shuffling of chairs and papers as everyone stood up for break.

"How would it be," she began icily as she led the way into the damp courtyard, "If I refused to let you borrow my notes this year?"

"We'd fail our O.W.L.'s," Ron said blandly. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione…"

"Well, you'd deserve it," she snapped, sitting down on a nearby bench. "Do you even _try_ to listen to him? And what's your excuse?" she asked, rounding on Ichigo. "You paid attention during Umbridge's speech, surely _you_ could deal simple with a _history_ _lecture_."

He raised an eyebrow. "The commentary wasn't nearly as interesting," he muttered under his breath, still attempting to shove the file folder he'd been working on back into his bag. Out loud he said, "I had work to do. Sorry if organizing reparation payments for last week's destroyed mansion were more important than a war I will never be tested on."

"'Never be tested on?'" Hermione repeated dubiously.

"'_Destroyed mansion_?'" Ron spluttered. "What the bloody hell—?"

"I'm already 'gainfully employed', remember? That means I'm responsible for financial reimbursements whenever one of my 'employees' gets into trouble." Ichigo scowled. "A building gets damaged and next thing I know I'm signing away half the monthly budget to pay for repairs. I swear more than half of the damn claims are outright lies," he muttered darkly. "Seems like whenever someone wants to do remodeling, all they have to do is put a hole in the wall and we get the blame _and_ the bill."

Hermione frowned. "That hardly seems fair…"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "'_It is against the law for any outside party to meddle in the affairs of the noble families unless the family in question breaks one of the laws of Seireitei beyond the shadow of a doubt_,'" he recited irritably. "I don't have anything to show they're embezzling the Gotei except for a suspicious paper trail, and that wouldn't hold up in court even if Central – that's our supreme governing body – suddenly decided to not hate me. Which they won't."

Harry quirked an eyebrow curiously. "Why does the government hate you?"

The Shinigami shrugged uncomfortably. "…A lot of reasons. Remember when I told you that my squad has a bad reputation?" he asked. "We're at the bottom of the influence ladder. I'm on good terms _personally _with some of the old clan heads, but that doesn't always mean they can support my _positions_, especially considering I'm trying to undo about three thousand years' worth of bad policies. And even if they did, the Kasumiouji-Kannogi family is still lesser nobility, Yoruichi-san is disowned, and the Shiba clan fell out of favor decades ago." His jaw tightened angrily. "I still have a few ins with the noble House of Kuchiki, but… well, Byakuya and me, we never got along that well. At all."

_Considerin' the firs' time ye met 'e tried ta kill ya an' the secon' time ye met _you_ tried ta kill '_im_, I'd call that an understatement._

_Shut up._

Harry and Ron both stared, somewhat slack-jawed, but Hermione was frowning thoughtfully. "But that didn't answer—"

"Seireitei politics are confusing if you're not used to them. Anyway – next class. What's the teacher like?"

The abrupt change in subject seemed to sufficiently distract them, for the two boys immediately launched into a detailed description of exactly how horrible the potionsmaster was. Hermione was still shooting him suspicious glares whenever she thought he wasn't looking, but he ignored her and she seemed willing to let the topic slide for the moment.

_We'll 'ave to tell 'em eventually,_ Shiro said quietly. _They're too damn curious fer their own good._

Ichigo grimaced. He knew that as well – Fred and George had been only too willing to tell tales of the trio's past exploits over the summer – but with the situation as it was, they couldn't. It was strictly against the Law of Soul Society to reveal its existence to living humans, and while the rule had been largely waived in Japan – the Winter War had had far-reaching consequences, after all, that affected all three worlds – it was still in full effect here in England. As a captain he might have had the authority to ignore it in his own country, but here he was far out of his own jurisdiction. Here, he was little more than a spiritually-aware human.

In short, his hands were tied and there was nothing he could do about it.

That thought annoyed him to no end. He hated the feeling of helplessness. It was something he'd felt only a few times since the death of his mother twenty years ago, but each of those times were accompanied by especially bitter memories: when his mother had been killed, when Rukia was taken back to Soul Society, the first time he'd locked blades with Aizen atop Soukyouku Hill… Each time he had been powerless to do _anything_ no matter how much his heart screamed at him to get up and do _something_, but at least then his inaction was slightly justifiable, even if that fact didn't make him feel any less angry with himself. He'd been unconscious when Grand Fisher had attacked all those years ago, and Byakuya had just stabbed him through the chest when Rukia was captured, and Aizen was… well, _Aizen_.

But this, this feeling of being _able_ to act, but not _allowed to_, was positively infuriating.

It was odd, Ichigo mused, watching Harry chat nervously with the pretty black-haired girl from the train, how quick the three of them were to accept him into their circle of confidence. He didn't know if it was because Dumbledore trusted him, because they had lived in the same house for the summer, or for some other reason he couldn't fathom. A part of his brain – the part that was still in a wartime mentality, the part that usually spoke in a voice eerily similar to Soifon's – called them all fools for putting faith in the word of some third party, that it was a sign of their naïveté and inexperience. It thought them wholly unprepared for the coming conflict.

Another part found it reassuring that such innocence still existed in the world, because it meant that the sacrifices he and others had made during the Winter War were worth it. Those battles may have been fought on the other side of the globe, but he had no doubt that had Aizen's faction won, there would have been little left of the world as they knew it.

Dethroning God and remaking the universe in your own image tended to have that effect.

And even stranger, he found himself trusting the trio back. He supposed it had something to do with the way they interacted; it reminded him of the bond between him and his own nakama back home. Their trust and faith in each other was absolute, far surpassing that of an ordinary friendship. Only a few things could forge a bond that strong: years of knowing and living and working together, and staring death in the eye with the others at your side. He had only heard a fraction of the stories – and, he suspected, they had been watered down in the telling – but by the sound of it the three of them had faced danger more times than most people would consider healthy. Or sane.

Ichigo was not one to put his faith in people lightly; ironic, considering that most of his associates/nakama had tried to kill him at one point or another and a few had actually managed it. Still, one could learn a lot about someone by fighting against them – whether they were patient or reckless, whether they were logical or went with their 'gut,' whether they acted out of a sense of obligation or a feeling of what was _right_ and what was _wrong_. Facing death together – even if death came in the form of the other's blade – created a strong bond between people that stretched across space and time. He had already faced death once before with Potter in the alleyway, and something told him that it wouldn't be the last time before the year was out. Somehow, his younger cousin had managed to work his way onto his ever-growing list of people he wanted to protect. And Harry trusted Ron and Hermione as surely as he trusted Rukia or Renji or Ishida or Chad or Inoue, so Ichigo would trust them as well.

Nakama did not lie to one another. They might keep things from each other – everyone was entitled to their secrets, after all – but outright _lying_… no. Lying was a betrayal of trust, and trust was something that was hard earned. Lies were not to be taken lightly. Lack of knowledge was one thing, but outright lying was something else entirely.

And so, he decided, he would _not_ lie to the three of them, not if he could help it. He couldn't avoid it entirely – the threat of the Ouzokutokumu made sure of that – but if he didn't have to, he wouldn't. That way, when they finally did find out the truth – and they _would_, Shiro was right about that, it was only a matter of time – then hopefully – _hopefully_ – they would not hate him for keeping it from them.

And if everything did not go according to plan… well, he would burn that bridge when he came to it.

-0-

The Potions classroom, Ichigo discovered when he entered the room ten minutes later behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione, was exceedingly damp. The walls were lined with shelves of jars containing various preserved organs and animals floating in brightly-colored liquids. The dungeon was lit with flickering torches that gave it an unnecessary air of foreboding, and the floor was covered in a thick layer of spilled potions and ingredients that smelled faintly of peppermint, manure, and the sort of antiseptics his father used to clean burn wounds.

He had just taken a seat near the back with Harry, Ron, and Hermione when the classroom door swung open again and Professor Snape swept in, black cloak flaring behind him as he walked. He strode over to his desk and glared around the room.

"Before we begin today, I think it advisable to remind you all that next June you will be sitting a very important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions." His voice was soft and difficult to hear over the sputtering of the candles, but there was little doubt that the entire class was hanging on his every word.

"Idiotic though some in this class undoubtedly are—" here his gaze lingered on Neville for a moment, who gulped audibly, "—I expect you to scrape an 'acceptable' in your O.W.L., or suffer my… _displeasure_.

"After this year of course, many of you will cease studying with me. I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will most certainly be saying goodbye," he continued, once again staring around at the students. Ichigo glanced sideways at Harry, who wore a grim, satisfied smirk on his face, evidently pleased by the possibility of never seeing the hated professor again after that year. "But we have another nine months to go until that happy moment of farewell, so whether you are intending to attempt the N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students."

His eyes swept over the class once more, this time settling on Ichigo, who stared back impassively. "We have a new student in our midst," Snape said lowly, and again the Shinigami felt that faint pressure in the back of his head. "I shall only hope that his education thus far has been up to scratch." His lip curled derisively, as though he seriously doubted it. "Tell me Kurosaki, what would I get if I added powdered griffin claw to an infusion of phoenix tears and white belladonna?"

Immediately Hermione's hand shot into the air, but Ichigo ignored her. He paused for a moment as though mulling over the question. The pressure was building the longer the potionsmaster stared at him… was Snape responsible for it? There was another particularly sharp jab and this time he thrust back. Snape flinched visibly, though it was such a small motion Ichigo doubted anyone else in the room had noticed it. A small, satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth and he pushed again, shoving his reiatsu down the invisible mental thread.

To his credit, Snape did little more than let out a tiny, strangled noise that he somehow managed to turn into a throat-clearing cough.

"Well?" _What in blazes did you do, boy?_

Ichigo smirked. "I have no idea, _sensei_." _That was your first and only warning. Don't try that again._

Snape's glare darkened, though he did not again attempt to penetrate Ichigo's mind. "Didn't think to open a book before coming, eh, Kurosaki? Five points from Gryffindor." He turned back to the rest of the class at large, most of whom either wore expressions of suppressed anger (as in the case of the Gryffindor students) or unrestrained glee (as in the Slytherins).

"Today we will be brewing a potion that often comes up at the Ordinary Wizarding Level – the Draught of Peace. It is a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation, but be warned: if you are too heavy handed with the ingredients, you will put the drinker into a deep and sometimes irreversible sleep, and you will therefore need to pay very close attention to what you are doing. The ingredients and method are on the blackboard, and you will find everything you need in the store cupboard. You have an hour and a half. Carry on."

Potion-making, Ichigo decided, wasn't too tricky in and of itself – it was a bit like some weird mix of chemistry and cooking in that everything had to be added in precisely the right order and amount. It wasn't giving him too much trouble – he _had_ managed to pass high-school chemistry, after all, and there had been that one summer Urahara had roped into helping out in the Shouten's laboratory back in college – but the same could not be said of Neville working beside him.

"Moon_stone_, Longbottom, not moon_ rock_," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth as Neville made to add the wrong ingredient for the fifth time in a row.

Neville squinted at the blackboard – which was, admittedly, difficult to see owing to the large amounts of multicolored steam issuing from the various cauldrons around the room – and saw that the right ingredient was indeed moonstones. "Thanks," he mumbled, flushing and setting down the tiny grey pebble he'd been about to add to his potion. "Can I – er, borrow your—?" he asked, gesturing to the unused pile of silvery stone sitting in the corner of Ichigo's half of the workbench.

"Aa, sure," he said, shoving a couple stones in the boy's direction. "Just be more careful next time."

Neville frowned a bit as he measured out the correct amount of moonstone on his scale. "Easy for you to say. Snape's not watching _you_. It's like he's just _waiting_ for me to mess up…"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure he _is_ glaring at me," Ichigo muttered, throwing a glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, the potionsmaster was glaring intently in their general direction as though he thought he could set them on fire with his eyes alone. Ichigo glared right back, not intimidated in the least. Between Kenpachi's You-Are-Going-To-Die-Now grin and Byakuya's I-Hate-You-But-I'm-Not-Allowed-To-Kill-You-At-The-Moment stare, he'd endured far worse.

Neville blinked. "And you're not…" he trailed off uncertainly, then shook his head. "Never mind."

With ten minutes to the end of the lesson, Snape – apparently finally remembering that he was supposed to be teaching a class, not drilling holes into the back of the Shinigami's head – called, "A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion."

Ichigo glanced at his, then at Neville's. The steam issuing from his cauldron wasn't exactly shimmering like Hermione's on the next table over, but it was at least a very pale shade of grey; Neville's, on the other hand, had achieved roughly the same consistency as freshly-made concrete. His eyes were round and fearful as Snape approached their table, but to his immense surprise and relief the potionsmaster passed them without a word. As a matter of fact, the greasy-haired man said nothing at all until the end of the lesson, when he dismissed them with the task of writing an essay on the properties of moonstones.

Ichigo had almost made it to the door when Snape's voice carried over the crowd.

"Kurosaki. A word."

Ichigo fell back, scowling, as the rest of the class filed past. Harry, Ron, and Hermione hung back for a moment, before a pointed look from Snape sent them scurrying out the door. It closed with a dull _thump_, leaving the pair of them alone in the dimly-lit dungeon.

Snape flicked his wand in the direction of the door, and Ichigo felt a faint nudge on the edge of his senses that told him a barrier had just been put in place there. The potionsmaster glared at him for a moment before speaking. "What are you, boy?"

He shrugged. "A student of Shinou Academy, come to study at Hogwarts for the year."

A jar near Ichigo's ear shattered. "Don't lie. Who are you? _What_ are you?" He was only a few paces away now, his eyes boring into the Shinigami's with almost reckless abandon. The pain was back again, and he felt the Hollow stir angrily.

Ichigo glared. "You already know the answer to that, _Professor_."

Snape's lip curled. "I only know who you say _you_ are. Who – _what_ – is the other one?"

Absolute silence rang in the empty air for several tense seconds. "So that _was_ you," Ichigo said at last, his voice frigid. The air thickened and the torches flickered and flared ominously as he loosened his grip on his reiatsu. "We figured as much."

Snape's glare darkened, in stark contrast to his paling face. Another jar shattered, spilling a noxious-smelling green liquid all over the dungeon floor. "Answer the question! _Who is the other one_?"

The Shinigami stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. "Hope you never, _ever_ have to meet him, Snape. I doubt you'd survive the encounter."

The potionsmaster bristled. "You dare to threaten—?"

"'Threaten?' Never." The pressure in the room lifted as Ichigo turned to leave, the torches in their brackets sputtering back to life. With a flick of his wrist, the barrier around the door shattered. "Just a statement of fact."

It was then that Snape did something that was both very dangerous, and very, _very_ stupid.

Ichigo had almost made it to the door when he heard a voice whisper from behind and felt the flutter of a spell around him. The door handle blurred and dissolved, and then—

_He was seven, his family cheering from the sidelines of the dojo, ducking and swerving to avoid the clumsy blows of the other boy nearly twice his size – He was nine, his four-year-old sisters bawling their eyes out at the foot of the stone grave, and he had to bite his lip to keep from joining them in their mourning – he was twelve, a feeling of distinct satisfaction as Oushima's nose crumpled beneath his fist – He was sixteen, dodging the lethal cloud of shining pink blades, and already he could feel the muscles in his body stretching and snapping and tearing under the strain of the day-old Bankai he had not yet mastered – He was seventeen, struggling against the level-90 Bakudou that pinned him to the ground as Aizen's footsteps echoed unnaturally loudly in the white hall—_

The dark pressure returned to the room almost instantaneously, causing the torches to hiss and spit dangerously and all the air to leave Snape's lungs as swiftly and painfully as though someone had hit him in the chest with a sledgehammer.

The potionsmaster barely had time to register this before he found himself lifted off his feet by his throat and slammed against the nearest wall, looking down into the eyes of a monster.

Whatever else he might be, Severus Snape was not a coward. He liked to consider himself brave, in his own way, no matter what others said about him. After all, a coward could not stand in the Dark Lord's presence, a coward could not witness and _participate_ in the crimes committed by the snake's followers no matter how much it sickened him to do so, a coward could not look Lord Voldemort in the eye and lie to him day in and day out – a coward, in short, could not do half the things Snape did on a daily basis.

But even he felt the chill of fear settle into his stomach at the sight of those terrifying eyes: colored a poisonous gold and black where the white should have been, they were as mad and cruel and heartless as Bellatrix Lestrange had been before her imprisonment in Azkaban. And they were also utterly, horribly, terrifyingly _inhuman_.

"King warned ya," he hissed in a voice not his own. "King _warned_ ya an' ya _still_ 'ad ta go an' push it. Congratulations, dumbass, yer dealin' with _me_ now."

Snape choked. "You – the other…?"

He laughed, a high, shrill sound that sent shivers down Snape's spine. "Ding ding ding! Give the man a prize," he hissed, yellow eyes boring holes into Snape's own. The potionsmaster slammed against the wall again, his head colliding painfully with the hard stone. "Yer lucky King ain' lettin' me kill ya right this second… Now ya listen to me, and ya listen well. I don' know what th' 'ell ya jus' did an' I don' care. _Never do that again._ If ya so much as even _think_ o' tryin' that on us again… I will _destroy_ _you_, body, mind an' soul."

"You – you're bluffing," Snape grit out. "Dumbledore said – your kind aren't _allowed_—"

"Ya _really_ wanna test that theory?" The grip around his neck tightened. "So. We clear?"

Snape made a tiny, strangled noise like a mouse being trodden on.

"I said, _are we clear_?"

"…Y-yes…" he managed to squeak out. The hand on his neck released him, and he fell to the floor in a crumpled heap amid the accumulated potion-waste of decades. He shot a wide-eyed, terrified glance at the monster's retreating back. At the door, 'Kurosaki' turned and regarded him disdainfully.

"Good. Ye'd better remember that, or our next meetin' _will_ be the last."

Snape stayed completely silent for almost a full minute after 'Kurosaki' left, regaining his composure, before slowly and painfully climbing back onto his feet. His head and back ached horribly from their rough encounter with the stone wall, and he could already feel the dark, angry bruises forming on his throat.

Whatever that had been, it had _not_ been human. It hadn't even been a non-human _being_, like a vampire, or a beast like Lupin. It was something else entirely – something dark, something primal, something far more monstrous that even the Dark Lord could be…

_Stupid, reckless, idiotic_— That had been a foolhardy move – not only had the attempt failed, but now Kurosaki and his mysterious other personality _knew_ he was a Leglimens. He doubted he would have another chance.

He grimaced. He would never admit it – and it pained him even to _compare_ himself to that man – but that stunt had been reckless enough to be – he shuddered – _Black-worthy_. A Legilimency assault on an unknown mind was inherently risky – and the minds of creatures, beings, beasts – _non-humans_, in other words – were dangerous in and of themselves. The minds of vampires and hags and the like worked in completely different ways that those of wizards – it was very easy to get lost, and never find the way back out again.

Even more dangerous were the minds of those creatures that were guarded by something… _else_. Werewolves never bothered to learn Occlumency, because they didn't _have_ to – anyone stupid enough to try and enter their consciousness would have their own torn to shreds within seconds in a blur of fangs and fur and claws.

He'd seen some of the long-term wards in Saint Mungo's. Having one's mind ripped into little tiny pieces was apparently _very_ unpleasant.

_That boy could wipe us all off the face of the Earth without hardly trying._

He shuddered, remembering Moody's words in the basement of Number Twelve. The so-called 'Shinigami' had not only repelled a master Legilimens like Snape (though admittedly, the potionsmaster hadn't tried anything past a surface-level reading), he'd also broken through a Class-I warding spell with no apparent effort. The shield he'd cast on the door hadn't been a particularly powerful one, but even _Dumbledore_ would have had to use his wand to break it. He had _never_ heard of a being that could do that.

Not that he hadn't tried. But there were no references to the beings called 'Shinigami' to be found inside the Hogwarts library, extensive as it was, nor even within his own personal collection – which, while not as large as that of the ancient school, did cover a wider… _variety_ of topics. Ones that Albus would _never_ permit to be accessible to children, restricted section or no.

Kurosaki was an unknown. A _dangerous _unknown. Who knew where his loyalties truly lay – and in these times of uncertainty and intrigue, an unknown could get you killed. Or worse. But if there was nowhere else to look but the boy's mind… No. That option was closed to him, now. As confident as he was in his dueling skills, he did not want to risk another direct confrontation with the yellow-eyed monster.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and he smirked. Yes, it could work – the family was old, nearly as old as the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and a darker family you would be hard-pressed to find…

He strode behind his desk, shoved aside several loose sheets of parchment, and began to write.

'_My esteemed Lucius…_'

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_None for this chapter._

* * *

Greetings to you all!

A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Jiyle (x2), Obiki Doragon (and a happy belated birthday), SilverFlameoftheWindScar, 4master, Kerowyn Van'Seph, mapleroxy, Dawn, Victoriousvillian, dragonXXforte, Daishusi4ka, Zaidee, Sofia10Soccer, Furionknight, Goldenfightergirl, Elspeth, Substitute for the soul, FireSenshi2, KianaNic, willi890, Mauralucky7, Roara chan, Escapedslave99, Basia Orci, Krystal Liu, Mesonoxian, JessieKage, 10th Squad 3rd Seat, yeah9fun, kawaii cookit-chan, Princess Marva, KaTyXLoves, Mori, Yami-no-Tamashii, crazyfraek1995 (x2), erindolphin91, Lil-bits-mom, Penemuel, Taio Kaiona, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, AnimeCritic514, jgood27, ElofoSh0, Onyx the young*dunask, mist shadow, Eternal Love's Exlipse, Tango Dancer, HELLO I'M, maxride4life, BOOM, evil-step-sister, Little Hana-chan, flamefoxvixen, (blank), Amarielah, artistic sprite, abandoned-angel-of-fire, Mary, reader238, Kori Neko Tenshi, jumpingjehosaphat, The Violent Tomboy, Kohanita, Gao Okami, Drops of Chastity, fayfan (x5), xXxShiniXKazexXx, XxKyuubiroxX, jon58840, Sweetiedogood (x2), Infernus87, howlingwindofthestorm, DelVarO, rowergal, lego825 (x2), Jay-Jay51, niconugget, LunaticSheep, Lolerific, Aninia, I-sold-my-soul-for-a-cookie, xxserafinxx (x3), plummy-kins, darkdelilah, Quetzalcoatls, Cherryde4th, neosildrake, and TheLastGarou for your lovely reviews! You all have my deepest thanks.

As you may have guessed, it turns out I'm not immune to the dreaded Writer's Block. That - and the fact that lit class has been eating up all my spare time - is really the only excuse I have for taking so long to update; there was a subplot in chapters 14-16 that was giving me trouble, but I think I've finally got it worked out to my satisfaction. Hopefully, things will progress more smoothly from now on. I'll be keeping my fingers crossed, in any event.

I know I said I would post an interlude chapter, but to be honest the thing is, at this point, complete and utter crap. It has not been cooperating at all, and I don't feel much inclined to continue to fight with something that doesn't want to be written. Thus far it consists mostly of rehashing of canon, reiteration of things previously mentioned in the story, and a lot of vague, nonsensical hints as to Ichigo's backstory - the last are the only thing of worth in that chapter, and they're nothing I hadn't planned on revealing later on anyway. If the interlude ever consents to be written, it will be posted (in between chapters thirteen and fourteen).

If you really, really wanted to read it, you have my apologies, but it isn't looking likely at the moment.

This means I'm still behind on my self-imposed update rule, but chapters seventeen and eighteen are planned out already, and Spring Break is coming up soon. Hooray for writing time!

In response to a reviewer, (blank) made a good point in their review of chapter six:

"If Voldemort knew to cross the lines between societies, wouldn't that make him aware of the lines themselves, and by extension, shinigami?"

No, Voldemort is not aware of the existence of Shinigami. The dimension that houses Soul Society has the same geography as the living realm; most of the jurisdictions are bounded by actual geopolitical borders (Avalon, for example, encompasses the islands that make up Great Britain and Ireland, and Cockaigne [the next one over] covers the chunk of Europe west of Austria and north of Spain), so he didn't need to know where precisely the lines were to cross them. Passing through the different districts (and therefore making himself very difficult to track) was simply a lucky accident on his part.

There is one thing I'd like readers' opinion on, if you're willing. I've come up with chapter titles for everything written thus far, mostly because I'm pretty sure with how long this story will most likely be, navigation will become rather difficult. I've already added them to the drop-down menu (old readers might have noticed this already), but I'm still debating whether or not to add them to the main text as well. If I still had all the individual chapters in the Document Manager online, this would be a no-brainer, but as it is most of them have been auto-deleted. I re-downloaded the full text of the story from the site, but I'm worried about messing something up while attempting to reupload the chapters from that. There is no ctrl+z on the internet.

_If you could give me your opinions on the matter, or any advice you might have, it would be much appreciated. To that end, I've added a poll on my profile page._

_Also, I'll be posting another FAQ with Chapter Fifteen, so go ahead and submit any questions you might have, either in a review or a PM._

_I do believe that (finally) wraps it up for this update. The next one will (hopefully) be in either late April or early May - actually, better make that May. Finals Week is around that time._

_As always, please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, or think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love and so long for now,_  
_Nesarna_  
_2/26/11_

* * *

This story reached the 50,000 hit mark last chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read this story, and I can only hope you will continue to enjoy it into the foreseeable future.

-Nesarna (2/26/11)


	16. The Toad

**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done solely for my own entertainment purposes._**

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still isn't mine._**

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Fifteenth

-0-

"Can you _believe_ how much homework we've got already?" Ron complained as he and Harry led the way down the silver ladder after yet another hour spent in the stuffy Divination classroom. "Binns wants eighteen inches on giant wars, a foot on moonstones for Snape, and now we've got a month's dream diary for Trelawney." He shook his head. "Fred and George weren't kidding about O.W.L. year, were they? Hope that Umbridge woman doesn't give us any…"

The pair of them met up with Hermione on the seventh floor just as she was leaving the Arithmancy classroom with Professor Vector.

"…your method of rewriting the equations using matrices is quite ingenious. Does it extend into multiple dimensions as well?"

"I should think so. I haven't tried past the standard eleven, but I don't think there's any reason for it not to…"

Vector smiled warmly. "Brilliant. I'll run through the equations this evening, just to be sure, but it looks as though you may have discovered a very handy method of solving these for the class to learn. You'll make a top-notch arithmancer yet, Miss Granger."

Hermione was still pink in the cheeks when she rejoined Harry and Ron. "Hello," she said brightly. "How was Divination?"

Ron sent her a withering glare. "Bloody awful. Do you know how much work we've just been assigned? A whole bloody month—"

"How was Arithmancy?" Harry interjected quickly, wanting to stop Ron before he could properly get going on his anti-homework rant. "What did Professor Vector want?"

Hermione shrugged. "I had a question about the proper method of calculating the cross product of force lines… You know, I was a bit disappointed that Ichigo didn't come, he seemed to know a lot about Arithmancy over the summer."

"Yeah, he wasn't in Divination either," Harry said as the three of them made their way down to the third floor. He frowned slightly. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen him since Potions. Have you?" The three of them had gone up to the Great Hall after leaving Snape's classroom; they would have waited down in the dungeons, but a group of leering seventh-year Slytherins and Ron's growling stomach had quickly convinced them otherwise.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I haven't…"

"Hope he hasn't got lost," Ron muttered. "Bloke doesn't know his way around yet, does he?"

They joined the cluster of students crowded around the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Ichigo still was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe he's in the library, or something," Hermione suggested nervously as she carefully scanned the crowd, an action which was entirely unnecessary as the Shinigami's vivid hair was visible for miles.

"It's a possibility," Harry agreed.

"What's a possibility?"

All three of their heads whipped around to see Ichigo standing there with his bag slung over his shoulder, in a spot where he had most certainly _not_ been standing a second before. He looked a considerably the worse for wear; his robes were disheveled, and his skin was littered with still-bleeding cuts and purpling bruises. "What?" he demanded irritably.

"When – how—" Ron spluttered, wide-eyed, "How'd you get there? You weren't there a second ago—"

Ichigo shrugged. "I'm fast. What're you talking about?"

Hermione bit her lip. "We were wondering where _you_ were, actually, we haven't seen you since Potions this morning. Where were you, anyway? Are you alright? You look like you got attacked by a rampaging hippogriff…"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm _fine_. I was just in the Forest," he mumbled.

Her eyes widened. "The Forest? Don't you know – you'll be in all sorts of trouble – it's forbidden for a _reason_ – there are all sorts of horrible things in there, like acromantulas and trolls and Fluffy—"

Ichigo choked. "'_Fluffy_?'"

"Hagrid's giant three-headed dog," she said impatiently. "But – why would you even _want_—"

"I had to blow off some steam," he growled. "Would you rather I have destroyed the courtyard, rather than an uninhabited clearing?"

Hermione looked taken aback, but didn't get a chance to argue as the bell rang and the lot of them filed into the classroom, where Professor Umbridge was already seated at her desk, watching them all with her beady eyes. As they sat down, Hermione shot Ichigo a look that said quite clearly that the conversation was not over, but he ignored her.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said brightly when they had all taked their places. A few students mumbled 'good afternoon' in reply, and she shook her head despairingly. "Tut, tut. _That_ won't do, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they all chanted back. Ichigo grimaced, and exchanged dubious looks with Harry and Ron.

Umbridge's flabby face widened into a broad smile. "There, now, that wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please, and copy this down." She reached into her sparkling pink handbag and pulled out her own wand – which was unusually short, barely five inches long – and tapping the chalkboard at the front of the room. At once, curly handwriting appeared there:

_Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles_

"Well now, your instruction in this subject has been rather heavily disrupted, hasn't it?" she began, coming to stand beside her desk. "The constant changing of teachers – many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum – has unfortunately resulted in you being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year."

She paced back and forth at the teacher's desk, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the board again, and another curly message appeared beneath the first.

_Course Aims:  
__1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.  
__2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.  
__3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._

Umbridge gave everyone a few moments to jot down her course aims, then continued, "Has everybody got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by William Slinkhard?" A dull murmur of assent rose from among the students. She shook her head again. "I think we'll try that again. When I ask you a question, I should like you to respond with 'yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'no, Professor Umbridge.' So, does everyone have a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by William Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room. Out of the corner of his eye Harry spotted Ichigo mutter something under his breath, looking disgusted.

Umbridge evidently did not notice, for she smiled broadly. "Good. I would like you all to open our books to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk." With that, she settled herself back at her desk, watching them all with her beady eyes. Harry opened his own copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_, turned to page five, and started to read.

It was horribly, utterly, mind-numbingly dull. He couldn't focus on the chapter for more than a minute, and soon found himself reading the same sentence over and over again without taking in a word of it. On his right Ron was staring blankly at the page, absently twirling his quill in his fingers, and he heard Ichigo say in a carrying whisper '_this is bullshit_' and shut his book with a snap, leaning back in his seat and shutting his eyes.

On his left, however, was a sight to shake him out of his stupor. Hermione had not even opened her book – something nigh-well unheard of, as Hermione had never yet been able to resist the temptation to open any and all books that crossed her path – and instead was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand raised high in the air. Harry shot her a questioning look, but she shook her head imperceptibly and continued her efforts to catch Umbridge's attention, who was just as determinedly looking in the other direction.

After several more minutes it became apparent that Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. 'Basics for Beginners' was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch this silent battle of wills. Even Ichigo had cracked open an eye, which was flicking back and forth between the bushy-haired girl and the toad-faced teacher, evidently trying to guess which of them would give in before the other.

Umbridge cracked first. "Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked sweetly, as though she had only just noticed Hermione's hand in the air.

"Not about the chapter, no," Hermione said.

Professor Umbridge smiled, showing her small, pointed teeth. "Well, we're reading now. If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

Hermione's hand did not lower an inch. "I have a query about your course aims."

Umbridge raised her eyebrows. "And your name is…?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," Umbridge said, in a tone of forced politeness.

"I don't. There's nothing up there about _using_ defensive spells," Hermione said bluntly.

The class was very silent as they all turned their gaze to the blackboard. Indeed, there was nothing up there about using spells at all. Ichigo's eyes narrowed.

"_Using_ defensive spells?" Umbridge repeated, giggling in a more-than-slightly-creepy manner, as though the very idea was ludicrous. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to _use_ a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron blurted.

"Students raise their hand in my class when they wish to speak, Mr.…?"

"Weasley," Ron said, thrusting his hand in the air.

She promptly spun on her heel and ignored him. Harry and Hermione's hands were both in the air by that point. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Harry before moving to Hermione. "Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes. Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

Umbridge smiled sweetly. "Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?"

"No, but—"

"Well then, I am afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than _you_ have devised our new program of study." Hermione looked like she'd been slapped in the face, but Umbridge continued unabashedly, "We will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—"

"And what use is that?" Harry demanded loudly. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a—"

"_Hand_, Mr. Potter," Umbridge chimed. Harry shoved his fist into the air, and Umbridge neatly turned her back to him. Now several other people had their hands up, too. "And your name is…?"

"Dean Thomas."

"Yes, Mr. Thomas? Did you have a question?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" Dean asked rhetorically. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free—"

"I repeat," interrupted Umbridge, still smiling that horribly fake smile, "Do you expect to be attacked in my classes?"

"No, but—"

Dean did not get a chance to finish his thought, for Professor Umbridge spoke over him. "I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said, in a tone that indicated anything but, "But you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards, very irresponsible indeed – not to mention," she added, giving a nasty little laugh, "Extremely dangerous half-breeds."

"If you mean Professor Lupin," Thomas piped up indignantly, "He was the best we ever—"

"_Hand_, Mr. Thomas. As I was saying – you have all been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to you age group, and to be quite honest, potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every day—"

"_Experience_ has taught me that," Ichigo said loudly, glaring at the professor.

Umbridge rounded on him. "I do not know to what standards the schools in Japan are held to, Mr. Kurosaki, but here we do not expose our children to such unnecessary and unreasonable dangers," she said dismissively. She turned back to the rest of the class. "Now, it is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he also performed them _on_ you—"

"Well, he turned out to be a lunatic, didn't he? Mind you, we still learned loads—"

"_Your hand is not up_,_ Mr. Thomas_!" she sang. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry of Magic that a theoretical knowledge of defensive magic will be more than enough to get you through your exams, which, after all, is what school is all about." She gave them all a sickly sweet smile. Parvati's hand shot up near the back of the class, and Umbridge turned to her. "And your name is…?"

"Parvati Patil. But isn't there a practical bit in our exams? Don't we have to show that we can actually _do_ the countercurses and things?"

Professor Umbridge waved a hand dismissively. "As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions."

"Without ever practicing them before? Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?" Parvati asked disbelievingly.

"_Your hand_,_ Miss Patil_. I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"

"And what good's theory in the real world?" Harry demanded, his fist in the air.

Umbridge looked up. "This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," she said softly.

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter. Who do you imagine could possibly want to hurt children like yourself?"

Without really meaning to, Ichigo burst into laughter. The entire class turned to stare at him, including Umbridge. "Might I ask what you find so amusing, Mr. Kurosaki?" she asked in a dangerously sugary voice.

He shook his head, still chuckling. "It's just – I can think of at least a dozen people who attack me every time we're in the same _room_." He leaned forward in his seat, stuck his elbows up on the desk and started counting off on his fingers. "Let's see… Kenpachi, Grimmjow, Shiro, my father, Hiyori, Renji, Ishida, Kanou-san would except Rukia won't let him, Ganju, Byakuya would except he's too damn polite, Ikkaku and Yumichika, Yachiru, Nel… Damn, I'm running out of fingers." He glanced at Umbridge, no longer laughing. "You see why I find the idea of _not_ being attacked ridiculous."

Umbridge's tone was forcibly sweet. "I repeat, in this country we do not purposefully expose our children to such dangers. Such… _archaic_ practices are limited to far more barbaric and utterly _uncivilized_—"

"Such 'archaic practices' are limited to the _real_ _world_," Ichigo interrupted.

"_Hand_, _Mr. Kurosaki_!"

He ignored her. "The point of getting an education isn't to pass exams, it's to get prepared for the real world that's already out there and waiting for us," he said shortly. "The real world doesn't suddenly disappear just because you step onto a school campus. If this class won't teach us anything about how to survive out there, then what the hell is the point in taking it?"

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "Detention, Mr. Kurosaki. Please come to my office, tomorrow evening at five o'clock."

He shrugged, evidently not concerned in the least. "Whatever."

"Ichigo's right," Harry said loudly. "It's the real world out there, not a classroom. Even if we aren't being attacked all the time, there're other threats out there. Lord Voldemort's one, I'm sure he'd love to kill all of us. Why shouldn't we be prepared for that?"

A collective gasp went up from the class: Ron shuddered, Lavender Brown gave a tiny little shriek of terror, and Neville slid sideways out of his chair with a squeak. Umbridge, however, didn't flinch at all. She didn't even twitch, or give any sign at all that Harry had just uttered the name of the most terrifying wizard in modern history, except that she now wore a small, satisfied smirk on her face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," she said quietly.

The silence in the classroom was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Ichigo shifted in his seat, watching Umbridge and Harry with narrowed eyes.

Umbridge was pacing again. "Now, let me make a few things quite plain. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead—"

"He wasn't dead, but yeah, he's returned!" Harry interjected angrily.

"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-points-for-your-House-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," Umbridge said in one breath, her wide, pouchy eyes boring holes into his. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is once again at large. _This is a lie_."

"It is _not_ a lie! I saw him, I fought him!"

"_Detention_, Mr. Potter!" Umbridge cried triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening, five o'clock in my office. I repeat, _this is a lie_. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizards. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with tales about resurrected Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help, I'm your friend." She smiled widely at them. No one smiled back. Umbridge returned to her desk and sat down neatly behind it. "And now, you will kindly return to your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"

Shaking with suppressed fury, Harry rose from his seat. Hermione tugged insistently at his sleeve, but he ignored her, jerking his arm out of her reach. "So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"

The class became very still and very silent. Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous looks.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," Umbridge said coldly, all traces of her false smile gone.

"It was murder," Harry said, his voice shaking. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

Umbridge's face was quite blank, and for a moment it looked as though she was about to start screaming. Instead she said in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter."

Harry kicked aside his chair and strode to the front of the room, hardly noticing or caring that all thirty pairs of eyes were fixed firmly on the back of his head. Umbridge rooted around in her handbag for a moment and pulled out a roll of pink parchment. She stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill (also pink) into a bottle of (guess what color) ink, and began scribbling furiously, her wide, pouchy eyes rolling in their sockets as she wrote.

After a few moments she sat up, rolled the tight scroll, and tapped it with her wand; the thing sealed itself shut at once. "Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," Umbridge said sweetly, holding it out to him. He snatched it out of her hand, spun on his heel, and marched straight out of the classroom without even looking at Ron or Hermione. He slammed the door so hard that it bounced back on its hinges.

Professor Umbridge was breathing heavily. After a moment she turned back to the rest of the class. "Well now, that was a bit exciting, wasn't it?" she asked, giggling slightly. No one laughed. "Once again, I would like to remind you all that the Ministry of Magic assures your complete safety from Dark wizards. If you have any concerns about rumors of resurrected Dark lords or any other such nonsense, please, come see me after class hours. And now, please return to your reading. Page five, chapter one: 'Basics for Beginners.'"

Abruptly, Ichigo got to his feet.

"What do you think you are doing, Mr. Kurosaki?" Umbridge asked in her most dangerously sweet voice.

He barely glanced at her. "Leaving," he said. He made to shove his copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ back into his bag, before apparently changing his mind and chucking it into the rubbish bin in the corner. "This class is bullshit."

Umbridge swelled like a bullfrog. "Detention, Mr. Kurosaki. Every evening this week. Get back to your seat!"

"Whatever you say, gama-busu." He had almost reached the door when it slammed shut in his face. Ichigo turned around, finally looking at Professor Umbridge directly. Her wand arm was outstretched and pointed at the door, a look of pure fury on her face.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor! Sit down!"

Ichigo didn't move. "Do_ not_ make me force this door open," he said quietly.

"_Sit down_. Or it'll be another week's detention!"

He scowled at her, throwing the full weight of both his and Shiro's fury into the glare. Umbridge's face paled, though it was difficult to tell if it was from fear or anger.

Probably both.

"Fine." He turned back to the door and placed a hand on the old wood and – the door exploded in a flash of red. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil both shrieked in fright and Neville fell backward off his seat in alarm. When the dust settled and the last of the splinters had fallen to the floor, the remains of the door were dangling precariously on its hinges.

The Shinigami was nowhere to be seen.

Umbridge's face purpled with fury.

Far down the corridor, several portraits shivered in their frames at the screech that echoed through the castle.

"_KUROSAKI_!"

-0-

Ichigo caught up with Harry surprisingly quickly, considering the headstart the younger teen had on him.

Then again, perhaps not; said wizard's progress had been impeded by a little floating man in an orange suit and jester's hat.

"_Leave me alone_!"

"Ooh, Crackpot's feeling cranky," sang the little man, practically doing backflips in mid-air. "What is it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in _tongues_?"

"I said, _leave me alone_, Peeves!"

The little man – Peeves, apparently – cackled in a manner oddly reminiscent of Shiro's. He zoomed towards the ceiling, grinned, and burst into song.

"_Oh, most think he's barking, the Potty wee lad,  
__But some are more kindly and think he's just sad,  
__But Peevesy knows better and says that he's mad—_"

"SHUT UP!"

Ichigo had had enough. "Oi, knock it off!" he shouted, shooing Peeves away from where he'd been circling Harry's head.

"And who is this?" Peeves asked, flipping himself upside down in the air and scrutinizing Ichigo closely. "The funny foreign kid? Nicky told us 'bout you, but Peevesy didn't believe it. The big bad Reaper come to dance and play among the silly ickle humans—"

The Shinigami's eyebrow twitched. Faster than the eye could see he reached out and snagged the little man by the ankle. He dragged the now-terrified spirit down to eyelevel and said, very slowly and clearly, "_You_ are going to leave. And you are going to do it _now_ before I turn you into a tiny little reishi _stain_ on the carpet. Got it?"

Peeves nodded frantically.

"Good." He released his grip on the poltergeist's ankle and he zoomed off down the corridor without a backwards glance.

Harry rounded on him. "I can take care of myself you know, there was no need—"

"Never said you couldn't," Ichigo said loudly, speaking over his complaints. "That thing was pissing me off."

Harry's glare didn't soften in the least, and he had just opened his mouth to retort when Professor McGonagall came bustling down the corridor, looking supremely harassed.

"What in Merlin's name are you two shouting about?" she demanded, glaring at the pair of them. "You are disturbing the students. Why aren't you in class?"

"I was sent to see you," Harry said stiffly.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Sent? What do you mean, sent?"

Harry handed her the pink scroll of parchment. Professor McGonagall frowned and took it, slitting it open with a tap of her wand and reading it with her eyes narrowed.

"Follow me, you two," she said, striding back down the hallway toward her office. The teenagers exchanged glances, before Ichigo shrugged and took off after her, Harry following close behind.

"Wait out here, Kurosaki, while I have a quick word with Potter," she told him, indicating a rickety bench in the hall just outside her office. He sat, and without another word McGonagall ushered Harry into her study and shut the door behind them with a sharp snap.

Ichigo leaned back in his seat, glaring venomously at the stone ceiling and trying very hard not think about anything in particular for very long. He'd been only a few steps below murderous rage back in Umbridge's classroom, and his mood had not improved much since then. Destroying that door and threatening Peeves the poltergeist had taken the edge off his temper, but…

He hadn't been this angry in a very long time. Ichigo would never be called one of the most level-headed members of Soul Society, but he'd gotten better about managing his admittedly short fuse in the past decade and a half (or at least he assumed he had; Byakuya's disapproving glare was a little less scathing these days than it had been fifteen years ago). Nothing would ever get done, after all, if he went around beating up those elders and nobles who so much as looked at him funny.

_That_ was Shiro's job. One which he did with great relish.

He'd initially planned not to get involved in Potter's spat with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but the woman had an incredible knack for pissing him off. She had somehow managed to push almost every single button he had. Her nothing-will-ever-harm-you-so-why-bother-learning-to-defend-yourself attitude made a mockery of everything he had ever done and everything he had ever stood for. He'd made his living fighting, defending the worlds – living and dead alike – against terrors both seen and unseen. From weak Hollows plaguing the streets of Karakura to Aizen threatening the very fabric of reality, he'd carved his existence in his own sweat and blood.

To be told that his purpose for existing was neither real nor truly worth it was _more_ than enough to make him see red.

Her notion that the world was a perfectly safe, danger-free place was troubling. Ichigo, for one, believed Harry and Dumbledore's claim that the most dangerous Dark wizard to ever walk the face of the Earth had returned from – well, it probably wasn't _death_, but he was certainly back from _something_. And even if that were not the case, what was to say that some other psycho would not emerge from the woodwork and terrorize wizarding Britain? Or even more mundane threats, like thieves or run-of-the-mill nutcases or – hell, even wild animals if it came to that.

Those threats were real, no matter what the Umbridge woman and her Ministry of Magic insisted. That they would ignore that was… unsettling. Dangerous. It was practically _begging_ for an entire generation of young wizards to be killed.

_Something_ would have to be done. The question was _what_… Shiro's suggestion of conveniently arranging for her 'unfortunate and untimely demise' and feeding her disembodied soul to a herd of hungry Gillian had its merits, but Ichigo quickly dismissed it as impractical. Not to mention unpleasant; Gillian were notoriously messy eaters. Like the time when—

He cut that thought off abruptly and scowled. Snape's… _whatever the hell he had done_ had caused some serious damage to his mindscape. According to Shiro, the bastard had ripped through the protective maze of wires crisscrossing the memory district and broken into the central hub. There was no obvious damage to the room inside, but neither Hollow nor Zanpakutou were willing to take chances. Without the shielding, unwanted remembrances were prone to start resurfacing.

_Especially_ those that were better left buried.

He took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He had little doubt that McGonagall would _not_ appreciate it if he appeared in her office prepared to kill something… which was a distinct possibility at the moment.

The office door opened and Harry walked out, looking torn between frustration and severe disappointment.

"Yo," Ichigo said, bobbing his head in greeting. "How'd it go?"

Harry grimaced. "…Not good. I've got detention for a week. With Umbridge."

Ichigo smirked. "Aa, me too." He stood and stretched, something in his back popping ominously.

The black-haired teenager raised an eyebrow curiously. "What'd you do?"

"Called her class bullshit," Ichigo replied blandly. Then, as an afterthought he added, "Blowing up the classroom door probably didn't help, either."

"Oh," Harry said uncertainly. "Uh… yeah, probably not."

"Not my fault, gama-busu shut the door in my face. I _did_ warn her…" He shook his head. "Anyway, I need to talk to McGonagall-sensei. Ja ne."

He entered the study, where Professor McGonagall was already seated at her desk, looking even more harried than she had before.

She glanced up as he came in, and waved him toward the unoccupied chair on the opposite side of her desk. "Ah, Kurosaki. Sit, sit. You haven't been sent too, I suppose."

"No, I wasn't."

McGonagall frowned. "Then why are you here instead of _in class _like you should be?"

"I wanted to discuss my class schedule."

"Your class schedule," McGonagall repeated dubiously. "And this matter could not wait until this evening?"

"No."

"Of course not." The Professor sighed and rubbed her temples wearily. "Well then, what could possibly be so urgent for you to walk out of Dolores Umbridge's classroom to speak to me?"

"I'm dropping Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said without preamble.

Professor McGonagall gave him a very long, very severe stare, as though trying to determine whether she had heard him properly. "Kurosaki, Defense Against the Dark Arts is one of the core classes in the Hogwarts curriculum. I cannot allow you to simply _drop_ it—"

Ichigo scowled. "I think you misunderstood, McGonagall. I _will not_ go to that class."

McGonagall gave him another hard look. "…And dare I ask your reason for this decision?" she asked tentatively.

Ichigo shrugged. "That class is, to put it mildly, _useless_. I'd even call it potentially _dangerous_." At Professor McGonagall's raised eyebrow he elaborated, "The… _instructor_ seems hell-bent on preventing anyone from learning anything about how to defend themselves in case of an attack. The notion that the world is a safe place is ludicrous, and the very _idea_ that there is no such thing as 'danger' is not only absurd, but _insulting_.

"In my line of work," he continued, "Attempts on one's life are not only possible, but _commonplace_. Ten percent of Academy graduates don't make it past their first year of service, and a third don't live to see their second decade. Not a day goes by when we don't hear about some dumbass new recruit who bit off more than they could chew and got themselves killed. Or worse, _eaten_." He shook his head. "Me, I'm high enough on the totem pole that I don't get sent to the front lines very often these days. But I've been there, and I've sent people there. Not everybody comes back." His eyes flashed gold. "The 'instructor' seems to believe we sacrifice our blood and lives for _no goddamn reason_."

McGonagall stared at him for another long moment before sighing resignedly. "I _understand_ that, but—"

He glared. "No, I don't think you do."

She frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. She closed it again, eyeing the Shinigami with something like concern. "…You understand that I have no control over the actions of Dolores Umbridge?" she said at last. "That she does not speak for all the Hogwarts staff?"

The Shinigami gave a curt nod. "Of course I do. I have experience with bigots, but that _doesn't_ mean I'm going to put up with it."

The professor sighed. "Kurosaki. You will not be able to pass the O.W.L.s—"

"We both know why I'm here, McGonagall, and we both know it has absolutely _nothing_ to do with learning. I could care less about your damned examinations," he said shortly. "I might be willing to sit through the rest of these useless classes for the sake of my cover but I will _not_ waste my time here, and I will _not_ be insulted. I see no point in continuing to attend that 'class' if it won't do anything to help me survive. Frankly, self-study would be a more effective means of learning magical defense."

The bell rang to signal the end of lessons, accompanied by the elephantine sounds of the entire student body on the move towards the Great Hall and dinner.

"You will lose your House points," McGonagall said warningly.

"Like I said, I could care less."

"Don't you understand – by defying Dolores Umbridge, you are risking bringing the entire might of the Ministry of Magic down on Hogwarts," McGonagall pressed, doing her very best to make the Shinigami see reason. "This could potentially be the undoing of _everything_ – this is not a time for _demonstrations_ and _protests_, it's a time to keep our heads down and—"

"I never did well with authority," Ichigo said coolly. "And scarier things than that gama-busu have come after me before. _They_ are now dead. If she wants to try and exercise control over _me_…" Ichigo's scowl turned positively frigid. "She will have a _fight_ on her hands."

Ichigo stood and walked towards the door.

"_Kurosaki_—" McGonagall tried again.

"If you're going to insist on my continued attendance of her so-called 'lessons,' I can't be held responsible when they find her mutilated corpse," the Shingami said evenly. "This isn't up for debate, McGonagall. I just came here to give you a heads-up."

And as he closed the door and joined the throng of students surging towards the Great Hall, he could have sworn he heard McGonagall say in a low, defeated voice, "…_I really need a drink_."

-0-

Dinner that night was a thoroughly unpleasant affair. Between Harry's shouting match with Umbridge, Ichigo blowing apart the classroom door, and the round fifty points the pair of them had managed to lose Gryffindor that afternoon, there was hardly a moment when they, Ron, and Hermione were not the target of suspicious stares and carrying whispers. Oddly, the rumormongers didn't seem to mind that their whispers and mutterings could be heard halfway across the Great Hall – quite the opposite, in fact. The lot of them seemed to be under the impression that if they talked loud enough, they would incite another loud rant from Harry and/or demonstration of the transfer student's 'wandless magic.' Ichigo had stuck around just long enough to grab a couple dinner rolls from the breadbasket at the end of the table before stalking off to somewhere else, muttering darkly about rolling heads.

After enduring nearly fifteen minutes of stares, Harry was starting to wish he'd gone with him.

"—he says Cedric Diggory was murdered – reckons he dueled with You-Know-Who—"

"—really – who does he think he's kidding – _honestly_—"

"What I don't get," Harry growled through gritted teeth, "Is why they all believed the story when Dumbledore told it two months ago."

Hermione sighed grimly. "The thing is, I'm not entirely sure they did."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

She hesitated for a moment, absently pushing a few peas around on her plate. "It means – don't take this the wrong way, Harry, but you don't understand what it was like after… well, after _it_ happened," she said quietly. "None of us saw what happened in the maze at all – you just arrived in the middle of the lawn clutching Cedric's body, and – well… All we had was Dumbledore's word for it that You-Know-Who had come back and killed Cedric and fought you—"

"Which is the _truth_," Harry said loudly, attracting the attention of the rest of the table, all of whom stopped their gossiping at once to stare at them with raised eyebrows. Harry gave them all venomous glares. "_What_?" he snapped, making a couple of nearby first years flinch. They quickly looked away.

Hermione sighed again. "Oh – oh, let's get out of here," she said, putting down her knife and fork. Ron looked rather depressed at the thought of having to abandon his apple pie, but followed Harry and Hermione out of the Great Hall just the same. People watched them with suspicious eyes all the way to the Entrance Hall, still whispering behind their backs.

Rain lashed against the windowpanes as they strode through the empty corridors towards Gryffindor Tower, accompanied by distant rolls of thunder. "What do you mean, you're not sure they believed Dumbledore?" Harry prompted as they took a shortcut through a tapestry of a one-eyed witch wearing a monocle.

"Well, like I said, all we had was Dumbledore's word for what happened – and I _know_ that's the truth, so _please_ don't go biting my head off again Harry – but before the truth could properly sink in, everybody went home for the summer and spent two whole months hearing about how you're an attention-seeking liar and Dumbledore's going senile."

"And how can they _believe_ that?" Harry spluttered. "When have I ever – _I don't want_—"

"We _know_, Harry. We know."

At last they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione gave the password before the pink satin-clad woman could even ask, and the painting swung forward to admit them into the Common Room. Gryffindor Tower was completely deserted, save for a dark figure hunched over in one of the squashy armchairs by the fire. As they approached, the figure reaveled itself to be Ichigo, sitting in one of those odd positions Harry vaguely recognized from one of Aunt Petunia's yoga videos, his eyes closed and brow furrowed in agitation.

"Don't suppose he's asleep, do you?" Harry wondered aloud.

Ron shrugged. "Probably." He reached out and waved his hand in the Shinigami's face. "Ichigo? You in there, mate?"

No response.

"He… he is _breathing_, isn't he?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," muttered Ron. "Must be one bloody good nap…"

He reached out again, and had almost managed to put his hand on the orange-haired teen's shoulder when, without warning, something lashed out and latched onto his wrist. Ron's face contorted in pain. "Ow – hey, let go—!"

Amber eyes blinked open, and the Shinigami released him at once. Ron snatched the injured limb back, cradling it against his chest. Deep, angry red semicircles marked where blunt nails had dug into his skin. "What the bloody hell was that for?" he demanded angrily.

"Sorry," Ichigo said shortly, not sounding particularly apologetic. "Don't you know it's rude to interrupt people when they're in the middle of something?"

Ron bristled. "Yeah, well, how's a bloke supposed to know you were doing anything? Looked like you were asleep to me."

"'_Sleeping_?' I wasn't _sleeping_, you—" He cut himself off abruptly, pinching the bridge of his nose, evidently trying very hard to reign in his temper. Harry could have sworn his eyes flashed gold. After a moment he sighed. "…Look. I'm sorry about your arm. Seriously," he added, on seeing Ron's rather skeptical expression. "But you _really_ shouldn't have done that. It's called jinzen – sort of like meditating, only… deeper. When you're than far into your subconscious… well, you don't exactly have control over your body's reactions. I thought you were an enemy."

Hermione frowned. "Are… are you really that worried about… about being attacked?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Considering 'good morning' in our house generally consists of my old man trying to kick my head in, yes. Yes I am."

Harry frowned. "Your dad never did that when you were at the Dursley's house over the summer…"

The Shinigami smiled wryly. "Only 'cause Yuzu told Dad to be on his best behavior. She's the only one between the four of us who can manage to get that idiot to do _anything_ properly, I swear."

Harry blinked, but no one else seemed to have noticed the slip-up, for Ron ploughed on, "So? Why were you doing that… um, ginseng thing?"

Ichigo's eyebrow twitched. "Jin_zen_. It helps me relax. _Usually_, anyway," he added tiredly, running a weary hand through his hair. "It's been… a pretty stressful day."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered, flopping down at last on the nearest armchair. "I thought this day would _never_ end…"

Ron grunted. "Yeah, right. D'you know we've still got four more days 'til the weekend?"

Harry groaned. "Not to mention I've got detention with the toad for the rest of the week…"

Hermione sighed. "It's really unfair," she said quietly. "I don't understand _how_ Dumbledore could let that horrible woman teach us, and in our O.W.L. year too…"

"It's always _somebody's_ O.W.L. year," Ichigo pointed out dully. "And somehow I don't think the old man had much choice in the matter."

"But to actually _employ_ someone who's refusing to let us do _magic_?" She shook her head. "It makes no sense, none at all…"

"We've never really had the greatest Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers," Ron said slowly. "It's like Hagrid says, isn't it? The job's jinxed. This one's just a bit worse than the others."

"A 'bit?'" Hermione repeated angrily. "A '_bit_?' Ron, she's here to _spy_ on us – to spy on _Dumbledore_!"

"I know that, 'Mione," Ron snapped. "She told us to report to her if we overhead anyone talking about how You-Know-Who is back, didn't she?" He shook his head. "I've heard about her from Dad. She's horrible. He says Fudge is getting pretty paranoid these days – she'll be informing on _everyone_. It's just… well, what can we do? D'you have any ideas? 'Cause I bloody well don't."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. "There has to be something," she said softly.

Ichigo shook his head. "There isn't," he said definitively.

Harry frowned. "How can you be so sure?"

He shrugged. "There are three ways to go about getting rid of someone," he began, holding up a finger. "First, the legal method. Not going to work. She's Fudge's lackey, he's not going to give up such a valuable informant, no matter what. If there was some law preventing her from teaching, he'd change it. You remember the Wizengamot, Harry. I'm not sure how laws are created here, but Fudge definitely has the judicial system in his pocket."

Ron looked confused. "But Harry got off."

"Yeah, he did," the Shinigami acknowledged with a nod of his head. "But it was close. The only reason he 'won' was because he had enough evidence to get the neutrals on his side."

Harry and Ron exchanged bewildered glances. "'Neutrals?'"

"The independents, or whatever you want to call them," Ichigo clarified. "In any conflict, there are three groups of people: the ones on your side, the ones on the other guy's side, and the ones not on either. If the two sides are evenly matched, then whoever gets the neutral party to work toward the same goal as them will win."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense…"

Ichigo held up a second finger. "Next, the not-quite-legal method. Since Fudge is paranoid, all we need to do to get Umbridge to leave is to make him think he needs her back at the Ministry. Ideally, this would involve making him think she's after his office, which probably isn't entirely unaccurate from what I've seen. He'd _have_ to bring her back to the Ministry so he can keep an eye on her, to make sure she doesn't go for a power-grab. Unfortunately, we have no way of planting that rumor. We could spread it around the school, but that information isn't likely to get back to parents and gama-busu _herself_ sure as hell isn't going to tell Fudge about it. And if it were started at the Ministry itself, there's the risk of it being traced back to members of the Order, so that's out.

"This leaves us with my preferred method, option number three," he continued, holding up a third finger. "Eliminate the problem at the source."

"But – but—" Hermione stammered, looking pale. "What you're advocating –surely you should exhause _all_ other possibilities before—"

"It isn't," Ichigo agreed. "But it tends to be the quickest and most efficient way."

"But still – how can you be so _casual_ about this? You're talking about _killing_ someone, not the _weather_—"

He scowled. "You forget, Granger. I've fought in a war before, I'm not exactly unacquainted with death."

There was silence for a moment before Ron blurted, "Does that mean you've killed somebody before?"

Ichigo's expression hardened. "Yes," he said shortly, his tone indicating the subject was not up for discussion.

The redhead looked ready to protest, but Harry shot him a significant look, and he closed his mouth again.

After a moment Ichigo sighed. "Look, it isn't an ideal solution, I'll admit. I hate having to deal with all this cloak-and-dagger shit, I'm more of a head-on kind of fighter. Unfortunately, no matter how much I'd like to kick her ass from here to Hueco Mundo, that's not going to happen. So we're back at square one."

He stood and stretched, several bones in his back popping ominously. "It's been a long day. I'm headed up to bed. Oyasumi."

The three of them watched him climb up the staircase to the boys' dormitory with varying looks of disbelief and horror on their faces. After a minute, Ron shook his head disbelievingly. "Mental, that one. Absolutely _mental_."

"Well, yes, he is a bit strange," Hermione agreed slowly.

"'Strange' doesn't even begin to cover it," Harry mumbled. "D'you know, back in that alleyway… There was this weird black light and then – the dementor attacking Dudley was dead. I didn't even know dementors _could_ be killed."

Hermione frowned. "They can't. I did a bit of reading on them back in our third year, and there's _never_ been a record of anybody managing to do more than subdue one, and temporarily at that. It's just not possible…"

Harry shook his head. "No, it was definitely dead. He – the other one, he brought it _back_. The smell was horrible."

"What other one?"

"That's the thing," he said hesitantly. "There was this… _other him_." And he proceeded to explain the appearance of Kurosaki's mysterious white double, Anzu Shirosaki (who, incidentally, hadn't been seen since that night nearly two months ago), the strange wandless magic called 'kidou,' and the dark wave of power that had felled the dementor back in the alleyway.

Hermione's eyes lit up midway through his explanation, and by the time he had finished she was practically glowing with excitement. "Harry, do you know what this means?"

"Er… no, not really."

She shook her head despairingly. "It means we have a new _lead_, Harry. Several of them, actually. Doppelganger spells are really, _really_ rare, not to mention incredibly difficult, far above N.E.W.T. level. He'd only have learned it at a school that offers intensive courses on them. And your description of kidou helps a lot too – magic systems based on invocations aren't that common these days, I don't think they've been in use in Europe since at _least_ the Middle Ages. If we can narrow it down to just the places that have those two things in common…"

"We'll have a lot more to go on," Harry finished, nodding. "Good thinking, Hermione."

Ron stifled a groan. "That means we're going to be spending a lot of time in the library this week, doesn't it?"

Hermione beamed. "Yes, Ronald, it does."

The redheaded boy sighed in frustration. People were coming back from dinner now, and the Common Room was gradually becoming filled with noise as the returning Gryffindors talked and laughed loudly to their friends. Several people gave the trio curious, vaguely-suspicious looks as they entered. Harry resolutely ignored them.

"Let's not start tonight, though," Harry suggested, refusing to look at the tiny first-year who was currently ogling him as she passed by on her way to the dormitories. While not exactly looking forward to dealing with Hermione in full-blown 'Research Mode' – after all, he'd spent more than his fair share of time in the library last year during the Triwizard Tournament and he wasn't particularly interested in repeating the experience – he wasn't as visibly upset about it as Ron was. "We've got a lot of homework to do, and I doubt the library's going anywhere before Saturday."

Hermione pursed her lips but nodded anyway. "Oh, alright. Let's do that then. We should start on Professor Snape's essay first, I think…"

"Right," Ron said dully, reluctantly pulling a roll of parchment out of his bag. "So, what were the properties of moonstone again?"

-0-

It was only much later, as Harry lay in his bed trying to fall asleep to the sound of Neville's snores, when he realized that the cuts and bruises that had littered Ichigo's body only hours before had already vanished without a trace.

-0-

Dolores Umbridge was less than pleased.

The appearance of the transfer student the night before had been unpleasant surprise – she'd heard nothing of it from Cornelius, and it was hard to believe the Ministry would overlook something as significant as Hogwarts' first study abroad student in three centuries – but not something she could not adjust her plans to accommodate. If she played her cards right, she might even be able to turn him into an ally in her little scheme to eliminate Dumbledore – he was an outsider, someone with no ties to the aging headmaster. Surely she, a representative of the powerful and infallible Ministry of Magic, a direct assistant to the Minister himself, would be by far the greater authority figure in his eyes. Surely, he would side with _her_ over the senile old man any day.

So, with that in mind, she had politely requested copies of the boy's transcript papers. Dumbledore, the batty old coot, had given them to her with an infuriating twinkle in his eye, as though he knew something she didn't. It had taken every measure of her willpower to keep the pleasant smile plastered to her face, but she had done it. Gaining the boy as an ally would be worth it, and once the mad headmaster was out of the picture, she could do with the transfer student as she wished.

Much to her displeasure, however, the boy's records were written entirely in Japanese. An inconvenience, perhaps, but one that was easily remedied; she'd sent them off with the evening owl post back to the Department of International Magical Cooperation for translation, as well as a request to look into the boy's previous school. Now all she had to do was sit back and wait for the information to come through, and she could build her plans to recruit the Kurosaki boy from there. She'd not forgotten, after all, the rather impressive demonstration of wandless magic – incompelete though the spell had been – he'd given back in Courtroom Ten. With a power like that at his disposal, he could be very… _persuasive_ in keeping the poor, defenseless children on their best behavior.

…That had_ been_ the plan, at any rate. Right up until the Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that afternoon and everything had gone completely pear-shaped.

Rather than see her as an authority figure, the boy had openly defied her – _despised_ her, even. Instead of giving her the respect her position as a professor and government official demanded, he'd contradicted her at every turn, _argued_ with her, undermined her authority at every available opportunity – and even worse, the other students had sided _with_ him.

Between him and the Potter brat, it was difficult to tell who would be the bigger thorn in her side. Potter, of course, was _persona_ _non_ _grata_ – but his fame was working against him at the moment; hardly anyone trusted the boy at all, what with the way the press had been painting him as delusional for the past few months. Still, there would always be those who would remember the boy's previous… _exploits_ (she refused to think of the brat's actions in the past few years as anything other than elaborate, trouble-making pranks) and would second-guess the _Prophet_'s opinion. But so long as they were few in number, they were a problem easily squashed.

But the Kurosaki boy… he had none of Potter's disadvantages. True, his status as a foreigner and therefore someone unaware of Magical Britain's past history regarding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would cause some to dismiss his opinion, but not nearly to the same degree as Potter. There could be serious problems if he came out in support of Dumbledore's lot… which seemed more and more likely by the minute. He and Potter were family; he'd no doubt stick with the brat come hell or high water, and as Potter sided with the headmaster (or was it the other way around?), it was probable he would as well. Not to mention he'd proven already that he didn't particularly favor the Ministry of Magic's stance on Defense Against the Dark Arts…

No. Far from becoming a useful ally in her war – because, really, that _was_ what it was – against the old headmaster, he was looking more and more like a serious threat to her planned regime.

She needed a way to counter him. There had to be some weakness, some way to remove him from the equation… Clearly, the normal authority measures wouldn't work, and he seemed to have already decided that she wasn't a threat to him.

Her lips curled into a cruel smirk. Not a threat, eh? She opened her desk drawer, extracted a piece of pink parchment and a quill, and started to write. It was something developed under Barty Crouch's administration, back before he'd authorized the use of the Unforgiveables against suspected Death Eaters. The Ministry hadn't had a use for them in years – but that was about to change, she thought with a sadistic little smile. '_Not a threat_…' She'd show _him_ just how much of a _threat_ she could be.

After all, torture could be a very effective tool for keeping naughty, troublemaking children in line.

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_gama: toad (more specifically, _Bufo japonicus_)_

_busu: a VERY insulting term, generally directed toward women; most commonly translated as 'hag'._

_persona non grata: diplomatic term that indicates a 'we don't want you to be here' feeling towards a person entering a country; more generally, used to refer to a person who has been ostracized by their community (latin: an unwelcome person)._

* * *

_Greetings to you all!_

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Jiyle, wind daffodil kyuuketsuki-san, Amir-015, mist shadow (x2), DelVarO, howlingwindofthestorm, ShadowsBloodPain, I-sold-my-soul-for-a-cookie, Kayla, lego825, georgina3101, Neko Kurosaki, fayfan, Sofia10Soccer, Mesonoxian, plummy-kins, Yami-no-Tamashii, Escapedslave99, Phamalama, erindolphin91, Basia Orci, One of the Colorless, HELLO I'M, yeah9fun, Eternal Love's Eclipse, KaTyXLoves, XxKyuubiRoxX, asredwer, Sam, The Violent Tomboy, Sadie*spotty, KianaNic, Krystal Liu, Quetzalcoatls, reader238, JongKey Scripted, moonlightskymist, AnimeCritic514 (x2), dragonXXforte, Kohanita, 10th Squad 3rd Seat, The REEk, Elspeth, ElementalistMagicAkua, writertron, Twilightdragoness, Tango Dancer, Cherryde4th, Loella, Aninia, Obiki Doragon, Hotaru Jaegerjaquez, Lady Drama, Viridian (x9), Taio Kaiona, JessieKage, thill, Ri696q, Kuroi Kokoro 09, Warpwind, goldenqueenofthecove, Purble, Shadic the Hedgehog Author, Selenay Of Antioch, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, CrimsonKitsune333 (x2), koothegrey, Lady Akiribos-san (x2), ariel stormcloud, ice vixen (x2), H-PockySticks, Bobette13, anonymous, Sa'Kage, ninja of the shadows (x2), FEIGN (x2), zzxxphaser, digiwriter1392, Lupus-Cantus-Grimoure (x4), ArtOfBleach-Naruto, Nazgul of xord, LaRire, Trisha Elicia, Aslook, inuficcrazy, SheiikahMinuet2, Chibi-Akarin, renakawaiichan, hitsugayataichoda, emperorTJ, Blue Eyed Canadian Author, Silent Observer, Nissi Nirvani, demonfoxgirl1000 (x4), Missy, Hakkuchi, Caralin (to whom I have but one thing to say: you are _beyond _awesome), Shavaineth, Whitetree-Nimloth, WynterRavenheart, MiravsStella and Midknight Killer for their lovely reviews! You all have my deepest thanks._

_Sorry, lo siento, je suis désolé, entschuldigung, gomen nasai and prastitye menya (and all other languages I've skipped) for being so late with the update! __Blame final exams... DiffEq and physics took up pretty much _all _my time the 2-3 weeks before the end, which hasn't left me a lot of time to write. _In all honesty, this is my least favorite chapter out of all the one's I've written thus far, but... well, I said I'd update in early May and I'll be damned if I don't update in early May. And... well, I've already rewritten this thing a few times, so I don't think rewriting it again _will help any. Might as well post what I've got, and suffer having to post a crappy chapter._

_BUT! It is finally summer. Which means free time, lots thereof... theoretically, anyway. I'll be taking online courses starting soon; I've never taken one before, so I'm not entirely sure what to expect. Online classes are supposed to be more work-intensive, but then again I'm taking economics, so I don't think it'll be too difficult. But you never know. So I think it's best to err on the side of caution and say the next chapter might be late June/early July. Then again, my family's rented a cabin up north for a few weeks around that time, and that means no good internet access__, so please don't get too upset if you don't see an update until mid-July. My apologies, but that's the way the world works._

_In a totally unrelated note, the results of the polling are in: 60% said to leave the titles only in the drop-down menu, followed by 21% advocating adding titles to the text itself, 16% proclaiming an undying love for french fries and/or potato chips, and 1% suggesting an alternative. Thank you to all 61 of you who voted! End result: the titles will be staying in the menu only._

_I do believe that wraps it up for this update. As always, please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, or think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love and so long for now,  
Nesarna  
5/13/11_

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_PS. A plate of vitrual cookies goes out to Quetzalcoatls for being the 500th reviewer! Thank you and enjoy!_

_Thanks again - Nesarna 5/13/11_

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_PPS. Anyone who knows what Professor Vector is discussing with Hermione totally deserves a virtual cookie._

_- Nesarna 5/13/11_

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_Frequently Asked Questions (Second Installment):_

_Q: Why do you insist on adding characters from filler chapters/episodes?  
A: When I include characters from non-canon material, it's usually because they fill some niche that I needed filled without me having to invent and OC to fill that role._

_Q: Will we ever find out what the hell happened in the 15 years before the start of the story?  
A: Yes and no. Events will be referenced, but there will be no explicit description. You will know the general outline, but not all the fine details. The backstory is just that, a backstory; it is not the main focus of this one. The actual, full backstory is another epic-length fic in and of itself. Whether it will ever be written down or just remain in my head is another matter entirely._

_Q: Why do you keep mixing up Japanese and English, even in the same sentence? It's unrealistic and annoying.  
A: In my experience, this _does _actually happen in real life. My roommate last year was from Croatia; whenever she called home you'd hear a mix of Croatian and English in the conversation. So languages can and do mix in casual conversation. Besides... Spanglish, anyone? I will, however, also confess that it's something of a habit of speech of mine to mix up my languages while talking. Since I tend to write more-or-less the same way I speak, the habit has carried over into my writing as well. I apologize if you find it annoying, but it's a habit I've had for years now and it probably isn't going anywhere._

_Q: Will Bleach characters besides Ichigo be appearing at Hogwarts?  
A: Maybe. I've not quite decided yet... most of the main cast (and some of the minor) will be making an appearance eventually, even if it's just in passing._

_Q: Are there any pairings?  
A: Long answer: I am not confident enough in my writing skills to attempt romance, so any relationships that appear in this fic will be well-established. Short answer: No._

_Q: Who the hell is that guy in chapter 11-12?  
A: It's a secret. You will find out in due time._

_Q: What is up with Avalon?  
A: It's a secret. You will find out in due time._

_Q: Why doesn't Hogwarts have any information on Shinigami?  
A: It's a secret. There IS a reason, however. And I like to think it's a good one._

_Q: When will Ichigo and Shiro get their wands?  
A: Sometime soon. I haven't quite gotten that far yet._

_Q: Is there a limit to how much power Ichigo and Shiro have?  
A: Well... it's a bit difficult to tell. My theory of how the two of them got to be so flipping powerful in the first place basically says that there is no upper ceiling, but my logic-o-meter/Gary-Stu-preventer says they'll eventually disintegrate from having too _much _power, at least if they continue the way they have been (and before I get any horrified messages from readers, THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN IN THE FIC, IT IS ONLY THEORETICAL). The main principle of the theory can be summed up in two words: feedback loop. Have fun speculating..._

_Q: Where the f*** are the changes to canon?  
A: They're coming. It's important to remember that there is more than one person plotting here; those other plotters have no reason to radically change their plans simply because a new person shows up on the scene. Things said person does, however, are a totally different story. Changes will start small, and eventually snowball into something big._

_I hope that has addressed most of the major comments/concerns. If you still have questions that I have not answered/commented on, feel free to either press the little blue link at the bottom of the page or PM me._

_Much love,  
Nesarna  
5/13/11_


	17. Blood

_Um... I'm not dead?_

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**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment._**

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still isn't mine._**

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Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Sixteenth

-0-

_Darkness._

_All around him, everywhere he looks, there is nothing but a solid, impenetrable wall of darkness._

_He slams his fist against the hard iron bars of his cage. Let me out._

_The voice beyond the shadows chuckles. Can't do that, chico._

_Bastard! he shouts, pounding against the walls of his cell. Let. Me. Out!_

_He can practically _feel_ the smirk coming from the other side of the darkness, even if he can't see it. Nope. Already told you, no can do._

_LET ME OUT!_

_The voice laughs again, but says no more._

_With a scream of rage he reaches over his shoulder to draw his sword—_

_Except the zanpakutou is no longer there._

_He throws himself against the cold steel bars again, pounding against the metal sides of his prison, willing it to buckle, to bend, to yield under his attack—_

_The iron remains immovable._

_The clinking of chains rattles in the darkness. His head whips around to see the pale spectre, its shackles trailing off behind it until they are swallowed by the shadows._

_Don' bother. I've tried. I've tried everythin'._

_He glares. Shut up! Just 'cause _you've_ obviously given up—!_

_The shackles rattle dangerously, but the blow never comes. The fist strains for a moment against the chains holding it back before it drops back to its side. With a scoff, the spectre turns and walks away, back into the all-encompassing darkness. …Che. Fine. Whatever. See if I care._

_He scowls at its retreating form before returning his attention to the walls of the cage. There has to be some way out, some way to escape…_

_The darkness is absolute._

_Yer an idiot, it says softly. Its eyes are visible through the gloom, vivid flecks of color amid an endless sea of blackness._

_Shut up, he repeats. I'm not – I'm not giving up. I _will_ get out of here._

_The chains clank, but the white figure does not emerge from the darkness again. …Yer an idiot._

_I thought I told you to shut up._

_His only reply is the quiet rattling of chains._

-0-

Ichigo woke in a cold sweat, as completely and suddenly as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. Sitting abruptly, he wrenched aside the thick scarlet hangings, and let out a sigh of relief when weak, early-morning sunlight filtered in through the dormitory windows.

Good. He wasn't particularly keen on facing the darkness again, not after that… 'Nightmare' wasn't the right word. No, it had been something far worse than that; far more horrible than some imagined terror conjured up by his subconscious mind.

It had been a memory.

A memory that _should_ have been long buried. Why had it resurfaced again, after all these years? Had everything that had happened in the past few days – the damn boggart, the stupid Hat, whatever the hell Snape had done – had it all really affected his mind so much?

Stupid question. Obviously it _must_ have, or he wouldn't be having flashbacks to that horrible time all those years ago.

Flashbacks – or at least, flashbacks _that_ bad – were something he hadn't had to deal with in nearly a decade. The first few years after the War had been horrible – not just for him, but for everyone. Unohana and the Fourth's psychiatry squad had worked on overtime to try and heal the worst of it, but there was a point where no amount of therapy, no amount of counseling, no amount of '_talking about it_' could make the world right again. He knew Hitsugaya still occasionally had nightmares of running Hinamori through (Matsumoto was a horrible the gossip when she was wasted, which seemed to happen more often these days), and Hanatarou still flinched at the color white – but Ichigo himself had mostly managed to bury the worst of his. There were still nightmares, of course – no amount of time could change that – but it was a rare occurrence.

It was one of the few advantages of having their mind and soul split between two individuals. One of them would keep the worst nightmares at bay while the other slept, then swap roles the next night, until time and later experiences had worn the edge off the worst of them.

That they were coming back after all this time was… troubling.

A glance at the illuminated clock face of his phone told him the time. 4:13. Far too early to be awake, but he knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep. With a grimace he rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats before heading down to the Common Room and through the portrait of the Fat Lady, towards the grounds. He needed to clear his head.

It was much easier to moving around the castle on that second morning, mostly because he'd been careful to note the path they took down to breakfast the previous day. The shifting architecture was certainly novel and made the task of navigating the corridors much more difficult than it needed to be, but after spending fifteen years figuring out the impossible layout of Seireitei and Rukongai, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Besides which, the portraits and suits of armor were considerably more useful as landmarks than nondescript white walls. Kenpachi might have had a poor sense of direction, but there was no one who could fault him for getting lost in the urban-planning nightmare that was the Court of Pure Souls.

He pushed open the great wooden doors in the Entrance Hall, and the grounds spread out before him. The sky was still dark, but the bit of eastern sky visible through the mountains was tinted in shades of pink and gold. Dew glittered in the early morning light, and the birds in the Forbidden Forest twittered happily, without a care in the world – as though several of the new clearings, craters, and fissures that had appeared there since yesterday didn't exist.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ichigo wondered what Avalon would do when they noticed the massive amounts of Shinigami and Hollow reiatsu that now permeated the area. Ukitake _had_ said to keep a low profile, after all…

He shook his head and dismissed the thought. 'Low profile' had never been in his vocabulary and it sure as hell wasn't going to suddenly appear there now. He would deal with the British Shinigami when the time came for it.

He felt out-of-place, that peaceful morning. The sky was clear, the birds were singing; everything around him seemed to be perfectly content and at peace – which was in complete contrast to his own inner turmoil. He was sure it was raining inside.

Ichigo found a secluded space near a beech tree on the edge of the lake and started going through his morning kata routines. The concentration required for the task kept his mind blissfully occupied, save for the occasional stray thought.

…If Snape had managed to get past their protective measures so easily – if he'd managed to get past _Shiro_ so easily, then clearly their mental defenses needed improvement…

…Speaking of the Hollow, he hadn't heard anything from him all morning. Not even a vague flash of emotion. It was strange. Shiro had never been particularly prone to hiding his emotions. There was always an undercurrent of annoyance, or amusement, or… _something_. The silence was unnerving.

He sighed and slid tiredly out of the last stance. Something was going on, and he needed to know what. He settled down among the roots of the large beech tree, closed his eyes, and let his mind sink backwards.

-0-

True to his expectations, the next time he opened his eyes the clouds overhead were gray and heavy with rain. Thunder rumbled across the sky as he flashed past the sideways buildings, and a fine drizzle was starting to fall by the time he arrived at his destination. He moved carefully through the trees; unlike the maze around the memory-house, these branches would not part at his will.

The blue forest that surrounded the city wasn't a place either he or the Hollow ventured very often. It was a more… fundamental part of their mind. It didn't change – it wasn't _capable_ of changing, not like the tall towers he had left behind. Zangetsu had once said that if the city was the active part of the consciousness, the forest was the subconscious part; the part he could not control, what made him… _him_.

And that made it far, _far_ more dangerous.

The sword on his back dissolved into a mist of reishi as he passed through the maze of leaves and twigs. Everything out here was _Ichigo_, and _Ichigo_ alone. Zanpakutou were born _with_ the soul, yes, but they were not born _of_ it; Zangetsu – either of his incarnations – couldn't enter here.

He found the Hollow sitting on one of the sideways trunks, staring morosely at a dark spot barely visible through the leaves. Shiro gave him a half-hearted nod as he approached. "Yo," he said tiredly.

"Hey yourself," Ichigo muttered, sitting down on a neighboring branch. "What're you doing out here?"

"Same thin' you are."

As one, both pairs of eyes flickered towards the shadowed gap before quickly looking away. Ichigo shuddered. "…Aa."

Silence fell between them.

"I'll kill 'im," Shiro said abruptly. Ichigo glanced at him. "'E so much as _tries_ ta do that ta us again and I will _destroy_ 'im, Law or no Law," he said shortly, shooting the Shinigami a look that made it _quite_ certain he was serious.

Ichigo nodded. "I won't stop you," he murmured, looking sideways at his white duplicate. The Hollow's hair was messier than usual, his shihakushou disheveled and wrinkled, and there were dark rings under dulled yellow eyes. "Daijoubu?" he asked after a moment.

Shiro grunted. "…Aa."

The Shinigami raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I _said_ I'm _fine_."

"You _look_ like _shit_," Ichigo said dully. He frowned. "…You should've said something if you're having nightmares," he said quietly.

"I _ain'_ 'avin' _nightmares_," Shiro snapped.

The Shinigami pounded a fist into the nearest branch. Blue-gray bark buckled under the force. "Dammit Shiro, _don't_ _lie_. There's no reason for you – you think I can't _handle_ a couple of bad memories or something?"

"Yer the one who's gotta be out _there_," he said, gesturing vaguely at the rain-soaked sky. "An' ya can' do that if yer bein' distracted by some stupid dream."

"That doesn't mean—" Ichigo broke off, grimacing. "…I don't need you to carry that burden for me."

The Hollow shrugged bitterly. "I'm stuck in 'ere. Might as well do somethin' useful."

Ichigo stared, openmouthed. After a minute he closed it and shook his head. "I don't need you to do that for me. I can handle it _myself_. What about you? Why should _you_ have to deal with _my_ problems?"

Shiro fidgeted uncomfortably. "…I'll be fine. Like I said before, I deal with this kinda shit better'n ya do."

"Not if there's nothing to beat to a bloody pulp," Ichigo countered. "And let's face it, there isn't a lot you can destroy here," he said, motioning to their surroundings. "Not without causing even _more_ damage, and Kami knows what _that _would do to us."

The Hollow grunted.

The Shinigami shifted uncomfortably. "…I revisited the Cave last night," he said quietly. "Thought… well, I thought you should know."

Pale fingers clenched involuntarily around the hem of his shihakushou. "…Aa, shitteiru," he muttered, his expression oddly pained. "That's why we're out 'ere, innit?"

Ichigo shrugged. "…Guess so."

Silence fell again, filled only by the sound of falling rain and the whisper of wind through the surrounding leaves.

After a moment, Ichigo broke it. "…Look… for what it's worth—"

"'S not yer fault."

"Yes it_ is_. If I hadn't been so _stupid_—"

"'S not yer fault," Shiro repeated.

"Shiro—"

"Ya should get back," the Hollow interrupted loudly. "Somebody's callin'."

"Shiro—"

"Seriously, get movin', or there won' be much of 'em left."

Ichigo opened his mouth, then closed it again. "…Fine," he conceded. "Just… I don't know. Do _something_. Don't dwell on it."

"I told ya, there ain' _nothin'_ wrong with me."

The orange-haired teenager raised a skeptical eyebrow. "That's a lie and we both know it," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Whatever. Just… stop moping. Get some sleep or spar with Zangetsu or something, maybe it'll help."

"I ain' _mopin'_."

"Liar."

"Dumbass."

"Bastard."

"Need I remin' ya we're the same person?"

"Yeah, well," Ichigo muttered, scowling, "You're the more irritating half."

Shiro scoffed. "I'll take that as a complimen', considerin' yer the _idiot_ 'alf."

"Like I said: bastard."

-0-

When his eyes opened again to that sunny morning, it took him a moment to realize _what_ exactly his fingers were clamped around.

"Ow – ow – let go of me, let – go – that _hurts_—"

The air in front of him was writhing and twisting wildly, like a heat haze.

"_Let go of me_—!"

He could have sworn there was a shimmering face amid the blur, almost like…

"_Shit_." He released the wrist at once. The silvery not-ghost – nearly transparent in the full light of the sun that had just risen – held the injured limb tightly to her chest. "I… sorry," he said lamely.

She sniffed indignantly. "Well. That settles that. You're _definitely_ a Reaper."

"A Reaper…?" he repeated. It wasn't a term he was familiar with…

_I'n that what the damn floatin' clown called ya?_ Shiro muttered absently. _Mebbe that's what they call Shinigami 'ere._

…_That'd make sense._ He glanced at the nervous spirit. "Yeah, so?"

She paled, then her face took on an apprehensive look. "Well? Aren't you going to… you know?"

His expression was quite blank. "Am I going to… what?"

She frowned. "You know – eat me or something. Isn't that what you Reapers do to ghosts like me?"

Ichigo stared. Even Shiro was stunned into momentary silence. Then the Hollow started sniggering, which quickly devolved into full-blown insane cackling. Soon enough Ichigo found himself on the ground in a fit of hysterics as well.

"_What_?" the not-ghost demanded, her expression torn between fear and confusion. This was _certainly_ not the sort of behavior she had expected from one of the semi-legendary Reapers.

"Sorry," he said, still chuckling. "I just… _really_ needed that."

"Oh." She hesitated a moment before continuing, "So? Are you going to eat me or what?"

He shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. "No, I'm not going to eat you."

She visibly sagged in relief. "You're not?"

He shook his head again. "No. _Definitely_ not."

"Oh, well then, that's good," she said. "But then why did you grab me?"

"It… was an accident," he mumbled. "Sorry."

The not-ghost straightened and brushed imaginary dust off her transparent robes. "Well, it's alright I suppose. If you really didn't mean it… I was just surprised, is all. I haven't actually _felt_ anything in fifty years, you know."

The Shinigami stared for a moment before shaking his head and standing. The sun was already peeking over the mountains beyond the village of Hogsmeade, and the shingles of the North Tower gleamed a shimmering gold in the light; he needed to get back to Gryffindor Tower so he could shower and eat breakfast before his first lesson. He felt much better now than he had before – the girl's rather ironic mistake had been the perfect thing to break the tension he'd been feeling since waking up earlier. And judging by the suppressed snickering he could still hear echoing in some distant corner of his mind, it seemed to have snapped Shiro out of whatever funk he'd been in the past few days, which was an added bonus.

The silvery not-ghost trailed behind him as he made his way up the hill to the castle. "What's your name?" she asked curiously.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," he said. "And you?"

"I'm Myrtle. Do all Reapers act like you?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I'm pretty unusual."

_Tha's th' understatemen' o' the century._

Ichigo couldn't help but grin. _Shut up._

"Oh. Okay." She frowned thoughtfully. "But then, how come you're here?"

"It's… a long story," he said evasively. "Suffice to say, I've got a job to do, so here I am. A job that does _not_ involve consuming your soul."

"Well, that's good. I don't imagine it'd be much fun to spend the rest of eternity in somebody's stomach," she said blandly. "Rather dark, I expect."

Ichigo looked torn between a smirk and a grimace. "…That's certainly one way to put it."

-0-

He arrived in the Great Hall just in time to see the morning wave of postal owls soar in through the open windows near the ceiling. The tawny owl that had brought Hermione's _Daily Prophet_ took off into the air just as he slid into a seat opposite Ron.

"There you are," Hermione said. "We wondered where you'd got off too. Harry and Ron said you weren't in the dormitory this morning. Where were you?"

Ichigo raised an eyebrow at her semi-accusatory tone. "Down on the grounds, if you really must know."

"What for?" Harry asked.

He shrugged, pouring himself a mug of 'coffee.' "Just some basic exercises. Got to stay in shape."

Ron grimaced. "Blimey. Why in Merlin's name would you _want_ to do that?"

Ichigo sent him a withering look. "You don't get to be the best if you don't put in at least a _little_ effort. Besides, I wasn't kidding yesterday when I said there were about a dozen people after my blood." He shuddered. "I don't particularly want to have to go through the whole 'dying' thing again if I can help it."

Ron's ears turned scarlet, and he said no more for the rest of breakfast.

The first lesson of the day was Charms, taught by the diminutive Filius Flitwick. Charms had very little practical combat application as far as Ichigo could tell – mostly the 'cute gimmicks' Shiro had often complained about over the summer – but he'd heard from Fred and George that the professor had once been a dueling champion, so he supposed he could give the tiny man the benefit of the doubt.

Flitwick smiled broadly as the class sat down. He took roll, and immediately launched into a speech concerning the importance of the upcoming O.W.L.s. Ichigo rolled his eyes and tuned out the professor's lecture; the exams, while no doubt important for the rest of his classmates, didn't concern him at all. He doubted Dumbledore would force him to sit them, especially after the confrontation with McGonagall the previous day. And if he did, it didn't matter because officially speaking Kurosaki Ichigo had been dead and buried for years.

He had little doubt that gama-busu was already busy digging up everything she could find on him through her contacts at the Ministry of Magic. Urahara had given Dumbledore a set of 'transcripts' to finalize his status as a transfer student, conveniently forgetting to translate any of it into English. It would take them a while to sort through those, especially since the old shopkeeper had written it in an elaborate five-layer code – which, added to the fact that as far as the Japanese government was concerned Ichigo no longer legally existed, ought to stymie her attempts for some time.

With a great shuffling noise, the rest of the class got to their feet excitedly; Flitwick had apparently assigned them to reviewing the Summoning Charm they'd learned last year. Hermione had already taken to the task with her usual gusto; small objects soared towards her from across the room as though spontaneously magnetized by the flick of her wand. Harry and Ron exchanged exasperated looks before following her example (though with noticeably less enthusiasm).

Ichigo looked down at the wand on his desk, the dragon heartstring one he'd been loaned by Ollivander that he still hadn't had an occasion to actually use. He picked it up. It felt… light, weak, fragile – as though one good blow would shatter it into a thousand tiny splinters. He didn't understand how the wizards around him could rely on it as a weapon. It might have been faster and more versatile than a blade, but he'd take the comforting weight of his sword over a flimsy little piece of wood any day.

At least he trusted Zangetsu not to break if he so much as looked at the zanpakutou funny.

"Are you having trouble, Mr. Kurosaki?"

He blinked. Professor Flitwick stood at the corner of the desk, his head barely level with Ichigo's elbows, looking concerned. Ichigo shook his head distractedly. "Ano – yeah, I suppose so. I've never tried this sort of spell before."

Flitwick nodded in understanding. "Hm. Yes, Professor Dumbledore did mention something to that effect. From what I gather, your school doesn't put much emphasis on Charms."

Ichigo shifted uncomfortably. There had been a slightly accusatory tone in Flitwick's voice that told him well enough the professor's opinion on _that_. "Well, it's not so much a lack of emphasis on it as these sorts of spells don't _exist_ in our magic system," he muttered, giving the diminutive professor the explanation he and Urahara had come up with over the summer. "Kidou's too specialized for it. Or at least for _this_ kind of spell," he added, waving vaguely in the direction of his classmates.

"So you've never Summoned anything before?" Flitwick asked.

"Well…" Technically, he had, _once_, but that had been Zangetsu and strictly speaking _he_ hadn't been the one to summon the sword from Ishida's stomach. It had been a combined effort and even the zanpakutou himself had later said he had no idea how the pair of them had managed it, especially since _none_ of their considerable array of abilities were air or levitation-based, and Ichigo had never in his life (or afterlife for that matter) shown signs of having latent psychic talent. They put it down to a freak accident, an action born of desperation, something that could never be repeated…

Not that they hadn't tried, of course, but they'd never managed to recreate the success of the original move.

Somehow, he didn't think the professor needed to know that particular bit of information. "No, not really."

"Not to worry, not to worry," Flitwick said reassuringly, drawing his own wand from his sleeve. "It's not a difficult spell. Just follow my wand movements… Flick and swish, flick and swish, there you go. Now, the incantation for this spell is '_Accio_.'"

Ichigo felt distinctly foolish, but went along with it anyway. "Ashio."

"Close. Pronunciation is important in Western magic, especially in charms. Try again. _Ah-_see_-oh_."

"Ah-see-oh." Ichigo pointedly ignored Shiro's sniggering. "Accio."

"Good. Now, point your wand at the cushion on that desk over there. Now, combine the incantation and the wand movements. _Accio_!"

"_Accio_."

Nothing happened.

Flitwick frowned, but didn't seem particularly concerned. "Not to worry, not to worry, these sorts of spells rarely work properly the first time—"

Ichigo paid him no heed. Brow furrowed in concentration, he closed his eyes, envisioning the dark circle of nothingness. "_Accio_." A jolt of reiatsu suddenly surged up his arm and into the wand, escaping his tentative hold on it and twisting and contorting and stretching in ways it wasn't supposed to and—

Several students jumped screaming out of the way as the desk he had been pointing at absently hurtled through the air. He dodged sideways as it flew past, missing his ear by a fraction of an inch, and it exploded against the far wall with an almighty crash.

As the last of the dust and shrapnel clattered to the floor, Professor Flitwick emerged from under a chair where he had ducked for cover, and said into the ringing silence, "…I think your control needs a bit of work, Mr. Kurosaki."

-0-

To no one's surprise, Ichigo was summarily banned from wandwork until further notice. Flitwick insisted the Shinigami come in on the weekend for remedial lessons on controlling his 'magic' until he could cast a spell without inadvertently causing mass destruction. Ichigo, for his part, spent the rest of the lesson in silence, watching the rest of the students practice and listening intently to Flitwick's lecture in a vain attempt to figure out _why_ the apparently simple spell had gone so horribly wrong.

He was by no means an expert in the field of Kidou, but he knew enough to be able to tell what a spell was supposed to feel like when it was cast – and at any rate he'd _definitely_ blown up enough _Shakkahou_s over the years to know what it _wasn't_ supposed to feel like. He had enough experience with failed spells to know when one was going to explode in his face (Shiro had lovingly named it the 'oh-shit-o-meter,' with a scale ranging from the standard 'crap' to the more serious 'HOLY MOTHER OF GOD WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE'), but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why his reiatsu had reacted so badly to the spell.

He'd envisioned the black circle like usual and imagined himself falling in, but when he'd tried to channel the focused reiryoku… it hadn't worked. Not like it should have, anyway. Flitwick's demonstration was simple, elegant – a normal conversion of the professor's own latent reiatsu to a more useable form. Kidou and Cero both did the same thing. But when he'd tried to copy the little man's spell, his reiatsu had flared wildly, completely escaping his fragile grip on it and surging dangerously through the wand, warping and contorting unnaturally.

Perhaps it wasn't so surprising how badly the spell had gone awry. It had taken years before he'd come anywhere close to having a measure of control over Kidou, so swapping out the usual spell medium (a long chant) for a new one (a magical twig) had more-or-less put him back at square one. And if the time it'd taken to learn Kidou was any sort of precedent, it'd be a while before he'd be up to any level of proficiency with the wizard's magic.

He glowered at that thought. Learning Kidou the first time through had been enough of a pain in the ass to last for several lifetimes.

Hermione cornered him almost immediately after the bell rang and Flitwick dismissed them with the task of writing a ten inch essay on the different classifications of levitation charms.

"Are you alright?" she demanded the second they were out of the tiny professor's hearing range, her expression torn between curiosity and concern. "What happened?"

Ichigo shrugged. "I'm _fine_. Just overloaded the spell is all. Not a big deal—"

"'_Not a big deal_?'" Hermione repeated disbelievingly, "But – I've _never_ seen – never even _heard_ of such a simple spell going so horribly wrong before—"

"That's because I have more reiryoku than most people would know what to do with," Ichigo snapped irritably. "I'm _fine_. Kami knows it wasn't the first spell to blow up in my face. I just need to sit down and figure out what the hell went wrong and how to fix it. _I'm fine_."

"Still, maybe you better visit Madame Pomfrey," Harry said tentatively. "I mean, you might be running risk of magical burnout or something…"

The Shinigami shook his head. "I'm fine. _Really_. I might be down to less power than usual, but I'm nowhere near my limit yet."

Both Harry and Ron seemed to accept this explanation, but Hermione still looked uncertain. She opened her mouth to argue, but apparently thought better of it and closed her jaw with a snap. She kept shooting him suspicious looks out of the corner of her eye all the way to Transfiguration, and did not stop until McGonagall launched into the obligatory O.W.L. speech.

"You cannot pass an O.W.L. without serious application, practice, and study," she said, once the bell had rung and everyone had taken their seats. "I see no reason why each and every one of you should not receive an O.W.L. in this class – yes, even you, Longbottom," she added sharply, as Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. "There is nothing wrong with your work except for a lack of confidence. So…"

She tapped the blackboard at the front of the room with her wand, and a labeled diagram of a snail appeared there. "Today we are beginning our unit on Vanishing spells. These are easier than Conjuring spells, which you would not normally attempt until N.E.W.T. level, but are still among the most difficult and complicated spells you will be tested on in your examinations.

"The difficulty of the Vanishing Spell increases with the complexity of the thing or animal being vanished; for this reason we will be starting with the common garden snail, _Helix aspersa_. It is very important to have an understanding of the basic structure and behavior of the creature you are working with, so please review the diagram and read through chapter fifteen of _Intermediate Transfiguration_ before you begin…"

Half an hour later, McGonagall passed around a box of little brown snails and set them to work. Ichigo stared impassively down at the mollusk on his desk. The classroom echoed with shouts of '_Evanesco'_ as the students attempted (with varying degrees of success) to Vanish their snails, but he was at a loss for what to do with it. He could kinda-sorta-maybe-understand the theory laid out in the textbook well enough, but if the last lesson was anything to go by, the snail was more likely to explode than vanish if he tried casting the spell, and he wasn't particularly interested in having to clean snail viscera off his shirt.

The snail waved its eye stalks in a vaguely curious manner as Professor McGonagall marched over to his desk, her expression rather stern.

"Mr. Kurosaki, why aren't you at least _trying_ to Vanish your snail?" she demanded.

He shrugged, completely unconcerned by her disapproving glare. "I destroyed a desk in Charms trying to cast a Summoning Charm. Flitwick-sensei said I shouldn't try and do any more wandwork until we figure out why."

She pursed her lips. "Hmm. Yes, well, Filius did say something to that effect in the staff room," she conceded grudgingly. "Very well. But I can't let you simply do _nothing_ while the other students work. You've got to do _something_ to make use of your time." She paused, thinking. "Professor Flitwick asked you to come in on the weekends, yes? To learn to control your magic?"

He nodded, suppressing a grimace. He did not enjoy the prospect of spending his weekends – time that could otherwise be spent on more productive tasks, like researching dementors or training or otherwise _doing his goddamned job_ – holed up in a classroom with the diminutive man, but… well. His cover _did_ need to be maintained.

"I see. Well then, in that case I think it best if you continued to review _Intermediate Transfiguration_ for the rest of today's lesson, but you will need to at least be able to completely Vanish your snail by the end of the month, after you've gotten your control problem sorted out, if you wish to keep up with the rest of the students. In the meantime, I expect you to complete all of your homework on time and have a thorough understanding of all the theoretical principles covered in class. Understood?"

Ichigo scowled distastefully at the task, but didn't argue. It seemed unwise to antagonize the Transfiguration Professor further, not after yesterday's… incident.

When the bell rang an hour later and they all headed off for the Great Hall and lunch, only Hermione had managed to make her snail Vanish completely, though Ron muttered something about how he thought his looked a 'mite bit' paler.

Much to Ichigo's relief, Hermione did not bring up the subject of the failed Summoning Charm again as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. In fact, she was practically _humming_ as she spooned out green beans onto everyone's plates.

Harry accepted his plate with a nod of thanks and glanced at the Shinigami. "What're you doing this afternoon? You have a free period, don't you?"

"Aa," Ichigo said unconcernedly.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Why don't you come to class with us?"

He paused for a moment, then shook his head. "Maybe another time."

She frowned. "You really should, you know. You've skipped Arithmancy and Divination yesterday, and students really aren't supposed to wander around between classes. I know you've got that hall pass, but I think it's best if you use it as little as possible."

Ichigo shot her a mildly annoyed look. "I wasn't exactly planning on wandering the halls. I was going to go to the library, get some work done. Snape's essay is due on Thursday, isn't it?"

A look of surprise flickered across the brunette's face. Ron and Harry traded resigned looks. "Oh, I didn't realize… Yes, yes it is. Do you know where the library is?"

He shrugged. "Somewhere on the third floor, right?"

She nodded. "Yes, in the East Wing. Just past the statue of Ivan the Irritable."

At the end of lunch, Ichigo waved good-bye as the three of them headed down to the grounds for Care of Magical Creatures before turning and making his own way up the marble staircase. He followed a gaggle of sixth-and-seventh-year girls into the library. The librarian, a hunch-backed, vulture-like woman identified by the golden plaque on the counter as Madame Irma Pince, narrowed her eyes suspiciously as he passed, but otherwise didn't move from where she was checking out a stack of books for a seventh-year Hufflepuff wearing glasses.

The upperclassmen shot him suspicious looks as he passed, probably wondering why a fifth-year was cutting classes on only the second day – it _was_, as the teachers kept reminding them on a near-constant basis, 'O.W.L. year' – but he ignored them with practiced ease. The 'Potions' area of the library was almost deserted, save for a seventh-year Ravenclaw hunched over a long roll of parchment that trailed across the floor and a pair of vaguely familiar girls in seated in the far corner. He set his bag down on an empty desk, pulled out a ballpoint pen and notebook (he refused to use the recommended parchment and quills as a matter of principle) and his copy of _Magical Draughts and Potions_, and set to work.

Snape might have been a bastard, but that didn't mean he could slack off in class. Ichigo had had a lot of nasty instructors over the years, and he knew how to deal with them – the best way to get them off your back was to do well enough so they didn't have _reason_ to give you flak.

Fifteen minutes later, however, he was ready to break something. Nothing. Absolutely _nothing_ in the textbook that explained the properties of the different ingredients. No tables, no charts, not even a tiny little footnote, only instructions on how to make the potions themselves. With a frustrated growl he ripped out the sheet he'd been working on – blank, save for the hastily-scrawled title – crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it over his shoulder before stalking over towards the shelves to hunt for a more useful text. There had to be _something_ – the professor wouldn't have set them a task that was _impossible_…

Then again, it _was_ Snape—

"Ack!"

He paused and glanced backwards. The Ravenclaw's ink bottle had been knocked over, staining his robes and long roll of parchment dark blue.

"Who did that?" he demanded. "I _know_ it was one of you – who was it?"

The Shinigami raised an eyebrow. "What's your problem?"

"My _problem_? My 'problem' is that whoever threw _this_—" he held up the wadded paper ball, "—just _ruined_ my thesis paper!"

Ichigo suppressed a wince. He'd written a few of those before; it wasn't a fun experience.

"And now I'll have to start _all_ _over_ _again_! _That's my problem_!" The Ravenclaw was breathing heavily. "So, which one of you was it? It was you, wasn't it," he snapped, turning to glare murderously at the girls in the corner.

The dark-haired one held up her hands defensively. "Hold on – it wasn't us—"

"Don't try and worm your way out of it—!" He drew his wand. "You lot are _always_ trying to ruin things for everyone else—!"

"But – we didn't—!"

"Oi, knock it off," Ichigo growled, moving to stand between them. "Put the stick down before someone gets hurt."

The seventh-year's face purpled. "You – you're defending them? They're _Slytherin_!"

Ichigo blinked and glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, a green and silver crest gleamed in the candlelight. "…So? That doesn't give you the right to threaten them. Besides, she didn't throw that stupid ball, _I_ did."

The Ravenclaw's face purpled. "That was – _you_—"

"Aa. So if you want to get mad at someone, get mad at _me_."

The wand quivered and yellow-orange sparks shot from the tip. Ichigo didn't so much as flinch.

"I'm sorry, it was an accident. Look, just put the stick down and—"

A split-second warning was all he had. The wand twitched.

"_Bakudou no sanjuukyuu—_"

"_Furnunculus_!"

"—_Enkosen_!"

The sickly green spell ricocheted off the hastily-erected barrier, flying off between the shelves and slamming into a collection of _Enchantments for the Enchanted_, which toppled over onto the floor with an almighty crash.

Ichigo tentatively lowered the glowing shield, only to raise it again to block an incoming jet of purple light. "Hey—!"

"_Mr. Davies_!" Madame Pince, the librarian, descended down on them seemingly out of nowhere, old lace fluttering and giving the impression of tattered wings. "What is going on here? What do you think you are doing – casting _spells_ in the library—!"

"But – Madame Pince – _he_ _ruined_ _my_ _paper_!" the Ravenclaw (Davies, apparently) sputtered, gesticulating madly at the ruined parchment, which was still dripping ink onto the carpet. "Surely—"

Her eyes narrowed and she glanced at the three of them. "Is this true?"

"It was an accident," Ichigo said honestly. "I already apologized. _Before_ he started throwing spells around."

"Did you retaliate?" she asked, her gaze flickering down to the glowing shield.

"No ma'am, I only used _Enkosen_. A _defensive_ spell," he added, on seeing her confused look. "Nothing offensive."

She glared. "We'll see. Your wands, please."

Still juggling the bakudou on one arm, Ichigo passed the woman his dragon heartstring wand without complaint, wondering what she would do with it.

Davies, however, seemed reluctant.

"_Your wand_, Mr. Davies."

With a grimace, he passed it over. Madame Pince pointed her own wand at the pair in her hand and said, clearly, "_Prior Incantato_."

At once, pale smoke curled from the tips of both wands, twisting into different shapes. The librarian frowned and turned back to the harassed-looking Davies. "Mr. Davies, you are a talented wizard. It should be a simple matter for you to clear up the excess ink. I trust you have been using _Similprior_ regularly?"

"Well – yes, but – that's not the _point_—"

Madame Pince ignored him and handed back the wands. "In that case, you will accept the apology and you will leave him be. Or you will _not_ be allowed back in this library. Is that understood, Mr. Davies?"

Davies spluttered incoherently for a moment before he closed his jaw with a snap. His face was an odd, blotchy red color as he cleared up the spilt ink with a wave of his wand. Without another word he packed up his books and left, but not before shooting Ichigo a very dirty look that all but promised misery in the near future. The Shinigami stared right back, completely unfazed.

With one last nod and a sweep of her wand to righten the upturned bookstand, Madame Pince departed back to her desk.

Ichigo sighed and let the bakudou dissipate. _…Why is it I'm making nothing but enemies here?_

The Hollow sniggered. _It's jus' 'cause yer oh-so-special, King._

_Gee. Thanks, Shiro._ He turned back to the girls behind him. "You alright?"

The dark-haired girl scowled. "We didn't need _your_ help," he said hotly. "We could've handled it just fine on—"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Never said you couldn't," he interrupted loudly. "It was _my_ damn fault. I don't like it when people take the heat for something _I_ did."

She glared. "So? What do you want?"

He blinked. "'Want?' Who said I wanted anything?"

She gave a haughty little laugh. "Nobody _ever_ does _anything_ without a reason."

Ichigo had an odd sense of déjà-vu. This was almost an exact reversal of the conversation between himself and Dumbledore back in September. He shook his head at the irony. "Fair point. How about we just say you owe me one?"

There was a moment's pause before the other girl, with mousey brown hair and glasses, nodded. "…I can live with that."

Her friend shot her an annoyed look, then sighed. "Looks like you've got yourself a deal, Gryffindor," she said reluctantly, holding out her hand. "Daphne Greengrass, and this is Tracey Davis."

Tracey gave a tiny little wave.

Ichigo smirked. "Not 'Gryffindor," he said, taking the proffered hand. "Ichigo Kurosaki."

-0-

Ichigo made it down to the greenhouses in the nick of time. The bell to signal the start of class rang just as he slid into an empty spot on the bench between Ron and Neville. The instructor, Professor Sprout – a rather scruffy-looking woman wearing patched robes and hat – smiled brightly at the assembled students, launched into the by-now-obligatory O.W.L. speech (Ichigo was starting to get sick of these – hadn't they heard the exact same thing from two professors earlier that day?), and then set them to work on some budding fanged geraniums.

"Now remember," Sprout called over the heads of the students, "They're called 'fanged' for a reason – be careful of the teeth, or you might find yourself short a finger or two."

Ichigo frowned. The little plants didn't look that dangerous to him – the teeth ringing the middle were small, obvious in early development. When he mentioned this thought aloud, Neville working beside him laughed.

"Well, you'd think that wouldn't you, just looking at these," he said amiably, carefully snipping away one of the plant's dry leaves. The geranium he was working on seemed to flinch. "But just you wait. In a few weeks, these little guys'll be big enough to swallow a rat whole – a finger's nothing."

The Shinigami blinked. "Seriously?"

Neville nodded solemnly. "Oh, yeah. We've got some of them in our garden at home – they keep the gnomes and rabbits and so on away from Gran's gold lace roses, see."

Ichigo stared down at the seemingly-innocent little flower, wondering vaguely whether or not the thing was a product of Kurotsuchi's lab – he wouldn't put it past that creepy old bastard to breed a carnivorous flower, if for no other reason than to scare Yachiru – Kami knew, if there was one thing the little pink-haired demon loved (besides sugar, Ken-chan, sugar, wreaking havoc, and sugar), it was flowers.

No, wait – that probably wasn't true. Yachiru would _adore_ a carnivorous flower. It combined two of her favorite things: pretty stuff and senseless bloodshed. She'd be ecstatic – she'd probably pass them out to everyone she came across and then giggle like a maniac when the thing bit some poor, unsuspecting recruit on the nose.

He shuddered. _Not_ an image he needed.

An hour and a half and several nibbled fingers later, Professor Sprout dismissed them back up to the castle with the task of writing an essay on the proper care and handling of shrieking shrubs.

"_Another_ essay," Ron was grumbling irritably as they climbed up the castle steps toward the Great Hall and dinner. "Merlin, you'd think we've got nothing else to do, wouldn't you? _How_ they expect us to be able to finish…"

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said exasperatedly. "You should be more focused on your schoolwork – besides, what else could possibly—"

She was interrupted by the arrival of a livid Angelina Johnson.

"_Potter_!" she bellowed, marching straight up to the younger teen and jabbing him angrily in the chest. "_Explain_. What's this I hear about you landing yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"

Harry scowled. "I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told the truth about You-Know-Who – why?"

"'Why?'" Angelina repeated furiously. "_Why_? Keeper tryouts, Potter! Didn't I tell you – didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the _whole_ team there, so we could find somebody who fitted in with _everyone_? Didn't I tell you I'd booked the pitch _specially_? And now you've gone and decided you can't be bothered to show up—"

"Hey, I didn't _decide_ not to be there," Harry protested.

She ignored him. "I don't care what you have to do to get off. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just _make sure you're there_!"

And with that she stormed off, leaving a fuming Harry in her wake.

"You know what?" Harry growled as the four of them entered the Great Hall, "We ought to check with Puddlemere United, see if Oliver Wood's been killed in a training accident." His bag slammed down on the top of Gryffindor Table, making a nearby pitcher of pumpkin juice wobble dangerously. "Because she seems to be _channeling his spirit_!"

"She's not," Ichigo said absently, spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate.

The three stared. "How do you know?"

The Shinigami blanched, mentally cursing himself for slipping _again_. "Uh… I… just… uh… do?" He winced internally; that had come out sounding more like a question rather than a statement. They seemed to buy it, though. Or at least, Harry and Ron did – Hermione shot him a suspicious look, but seemed willing to let the matter slide for the moment.

"I can't believe – does she think I _want_ to be in detention?" Harry growled, grabbing a roast leg of lamb with more violence than was strictly necessary.

Ron gave him a sympathetic look. "I know mate." He frowned. "What d'you reckon are the odds Umbridge'll let you off on Friday?"

"Less than zero," Harry muttered dully. "Not like I've got much choice though, have I? Otherwise Angelina'd pop an aneurysm." He sighed. "Maybe I'll offer to do two more detentions or something…"

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "You mean you're actually going?"

Harry stared. "You mean you're _not_?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't planning on it, no."

All three of them stared at him with wide eyes. "_What_?"

Ichigo frowned. "She's not acting like a teacher, so I don't see any reason to treat her like one."

Hermione bit her lip uncertainly. "But aren't you worried about getting – you know, being expelled?"

The Shinigami opened his mouth to argue, then hesitated. "…Fair point," he conceded at last. "But the headmaster's the only one who can expel students, and Dumbledore wouldn't let that happen."

Ron blinked. "How the bloody hell do you know that?"

Ichigo gave a wry grin. "Two words: _International Incident._" He shook his head. "My school would raise _hell_ if I got kicked out."

Shiro snorted. _More like _you'd_ raise 'ell._

The Shinigami smirked. _Eh, same difference. They don't have to know that._

"Yeah well, I don't _have_ that particular luxury," Harry said shortly. "The Ministry would just _love_ to see me expelled…" After a minute he sighed. "Hope she doesn't keep me too long. You realize we've got to write four essays, practice Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, finish that bowtruckle drawing for Grubbly-Plank, _and_ get started on that stupid dream diary of Trelawney's?"

Ron groaned and for some reason glanced at the ceiling. "…_And_ it looks like it's going to rain."

Hermione frowned. "What's that got to do with our homework?"

"Nothing," Ron said at once.

At five minutes to five o'clock, Harry rose out of his seat and said a gloomy good-bye to Ron and Hermione and headed up to the third floor. To his slight surprise, Ichigo got up as well and followed him out into the Entrance Hall.

"I thought you were skiving off," he said casually.

Ichigo shrugged. "I'd like to, but the _hell_ I'm letting you deal with the toad alone."

"…Oh." He blinked. "Er… thanks."

They had arrived at Umbridge's office. When Harry knocked, Umbridge's voice rang out, "Come in."

The second Ichigo entered, he stopped dead in his tracks.

…_Holy shit._

The room was, in a word, pink. Every available surface had been draped in flowery cloths. Each table had its own little glass vase full of dried flowers sitting daintily on its own little lace doily, and the walls and shelves were lined with a series of ornamental plates featuring Technicolor, doe-eyed kittens wearing oversized satin bows.

_I think I'm gonna be sick,_ Shiro muttered. Ichigo could feel the waves of revulsion rolling off the Hollow. _Ya sure I can't kill 'er?_

_Positive. Unfortunately_.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. And Mr. Kurosaki. Good evening."

It took Ichigo a minute to locate Umbridge, as her lurid robes blended all-too-well with the flowery tablecloth behind her.

"Evening," Harry said stiffly. Ichigo merely grunted in acknowledgement, but Umbridge didn't seem to mind.

She smiled widely. "Please, sit down," she said sweetly, pointing to a small, lace-covered table beside which she had drawn up a pair of straight-backed chairs. Two long sheets of blank parchment lay on the table, ready and waiting.

Ichigo didn't need any further invitation, but Harry hesitated. "Er, Professor? I – er, before we start, I – um, I wanted to ask you a… a favor."

Her pouchy eyes narrowed. "Yes?"

"Well, it's just, I'm – I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and – and we're having tryouts on Friday, and I was – was wondering if I could maybe skip detention that night and – and, um, do it another night… instead…"

Ichigo resisted the urge to grimace. This would not end well. Umbridge's flabby face split into a nasty smile.

"Oh, no. Oh no no no… This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter—"

Harry's eyebrow twitched.

"—And punishments _certainly_ cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o' clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. As I matter of fact, I think it a rather good thing that you _are_ missing something you really want to do – it ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Ichigo shot him a warning look and he closed his jaw with a snap. Still fuming, Harry marched over to the remaining chair, dumped his schoolbag on the floor beside it, and sat down without a word.

Umbridge smiled sweetly. "There, we're getting better at controlling our temper, aren't we?" She glanced at Ichigo. "Do you have anything you would like to say, Mr. Kurosaki?"

"No," he said, as neutrally as he could manage.

"Good. Now, you two are going to be writing lines for me. No, not with your quill," she added, as Harry reached down into his bag. "You're going to be using some rather special ones of mine. Here you are."

She handed them a pair of identical, long black quills. Ichigo frowned. There was a strange, dark aura around it… It wasn't strong, by any means, but it had an odd sort of texture, almost like—

"I want you, Mr. Potter, to write 'I must not tell lies,'" she said softly. "And you, Mr. Kurosaki, are to write 'I must not disrespect my betters.'"

Shiro scoffed. _'Yer betters' – like '_ell_ she's any better'n us – I oughta—_

"How many times?" Harry asked, in a tone of forced politeness.

Umbridge smiled. "Oh, just as long as it takes for the message to _sink_ _in_. Off you go now."

Harry glanced at Ichigo, who shrugged. He picked up the quill, then hesitated. Something was off…

"You haven't given us any ink," Harry blurted.

Umbridge giggled, a high, sickly sweet sound that sent shivers down Ichigo's spine and had the Hollow threatening murder again. "Oh, you won't be _needing_ ink," she said lightly.

The pair exchanged looks. After a split second pause, Harry frowned and wrote, _I must not tell lies_.

Ichigo knew something was wrong the moment the younger teen put quill to parchment. The reiatsu in the air shifted in and oddly-familiar way… but the Shinigami did not have time to dwell on it, because in that same instant the words appeared on the parchment in a shining red ink, and those same five words appeared on the back of Harry's hand, as if they'd been carved there by a scalpel. Within seconds the wound healed over, leaving nothing but a faint, reddish mark behind.

The metallic, coppery scent of blood filled the air.

Shiro was howling, demanding to be released. Ichigo gritted his teeth and gripped the edge of the desk, focusing all his willpower on keeping the Hollow from destroying the toad-woman right then and there.

_Lemme at 'er—_

_Shiro – stop – we can't—_

_I don' fuckin' care—_

_You know what'll happen if—_

_Dammit King, don' try an'—_

_I know but – we can't – if we _die_—_

The Hollow hissed with impotent fury. _…Che. Fine_, he growled angrily. _But I swear, the _second_—_

_I know._

"Is there are a problem, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asked in a low, sugary voice.

"N-no," Harry said, shooting Ichigo a significant look. _Don't_.

"Then carry on, if you please."

Harry shot Ichigo another look and returned to his parchment. The Shinigami slowly unclenched his fingers from around the edge of the table, took a deep, calming breath. He was certain his eyes were glowing a dangerous yellow, and wouldn't have been surprised if black had started to bleed into the corners. With one last glance at Harry to assure himself that the younger teen was fine, he sighed heavily and started to write.

_I must not disrespect my betters._

Pain flashed across the back of his hand. It wasn't the worst he had ever felt (having his soul ripped in two topped that category by a _landslide_), but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

No, what worried him was that Harry was feeling the exact same thing every time he put quill to parchment. Ichigo was used to pain – it was an occupational hazard of being a Shinigami – but Harry…

Harry was _not_.

Seeing his hesitation, the younger teen shot him a reassuring smile. _I'm_ _okay_, he mouthed, while Umbridge rummaged around in her desk.

Ichigo could do nothing more than nod reluctantly, all the while trying to convince himself that his cousin would be fine, that he could handle it…

_I must not disrespect my betters. _

Of course he could.

_I must not disrespect my betters. _

The kid _wasn't_ weak. He could deal with pain.

_I must not disrespect my betters._

He _could_ handle the pain. He _would_ be just fine…

_I must not disrespect my betters._

On and on it went. Each time the words were carved into the back of his hand, and each time they healed over instantly, though the skin there was slightly redder than before. He couldn't tell if it was an effect of the quill's enchantment, or if he had started subconsciously tapping into the Hollow's regeneration abilities in an attempt to negate the damage. It wouldn't have been surprising if that was the case, given the sheer amount furious reiatsu that was rolling off of Shiro…

There were no clocks in Umbridge's office, and Ichigo did not dare stop to glance at his watch for fear of losing his concentration and changing his mind about not letting Shiro do as he wished, so there was no way to tell how long they had been writing, save for the steadily darkening patch of sky that was visible through the window.

Night had long-since fallen when Umbridge said, at last, "Come here."

Ichigo put down his quill, grimacing. Across the desk, Harry had laid his down too. Blood dripped from the freshly-carved 'I must not tell lies' that was healing at a much slower rate than it had before.

"Let me see your hands," she said softly. She took them in her own stubby ones, examining the wounds closely. With her in such close proximity, Ichigo found it increasingly difficult to resist the temptation to bash her head in. It would be so easy, to just reach out and take her throat and _squeeze_…

He gritted his teeth and deliberately focused all his attention on a spot above the toad's shoulder. _No._ Those were Shiro's thoughts, and he hadn't caved to the Hollow's more animalistic tendencies before (willingly, at least) and he _certainly_ wasn't going to now.

Umbridge gave an overly-dramatic, disappointed little sigh. "Tut, tut. The message doesn't seem to have made much of an impression yet. We'll have to try again tomorrow night, won't we?" She smiled sweetly. "You may go."

Ichigo and Harry collected their bags in silence and left without a backward glance.

-0-

The second they were out of earshot of Umbridge's office, Ichigo's fist slammed into the wall, the hard stone cracking under the force.

Harry stared at the dent in the mortar. "Merlin, what…"

"Are you alright?" Ichigo interrupted. His tone was clipped and deliberately neutral, utterly devoid of any emotion save for a sort of cold, quiet fury.

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. "I… yeah, I'm fine."

The Shinigami gave a curt nod. The helmeted head of a suit of armor turned to follow them as they passed. "Good. How's your hand? Still bleeding?"

"No, it's okay. The bleeding's stopped." The dark-haired teen glanced at him. "What about you?"

"…I'm used to worse."

"Huh." Harry gave him a look that was plainly asking for him to elaborate, but Ichigo ignored it. They walked in complete silence up to the seventh floor, where the Fat Lady was snoozing against her gilded frame. When Harry gave the password ("_Mimbulus_ _mimbletonia_"), she muttered something sleepily and her portrait swung forward.

Everyone had long since gone to bed. The fires in the grate had burned down to nothing more than embers, leaving the Common Room in near total darkness. The only source of light was a silvery ray of moonlight streaming in through the tower windows.

"What're we going to tell the others?" Ichigo asked into the silence.

Harry hesitated for a moment before saying, "Nothing. I just… I don't want them to… It's better if they don't know."

The Shinigami shot him a look of concern. "They'll find out eventually," he said quietly.

Harry felt his insides twist with guilt. "…I don't want then to worry."

Ichigo nodded mutely, and the silence fell again.

The grandfather clock in the corner struck three as they climbed the spiral staircase up to the dormitory. Harry flopped down immediately on top of the bedsheets without even bothering to remove his shoes, but Ichigo took his time climbing into bed. He was utterly exhausted – he'd been awake for the better part of twenty straight hours, after all – but he knew sleep would be long in coming.

_Ya shoulda let me at 'er,_ Shiro growled as Ichigo closed the curtains around the four-poster. _I'da ripped 'er limb from limb…_

_Which is exactly why I _didn't_,_ Ichigo muttered dryly, settling down beneath the covers.

The Hollow huffed angrily. _Ya can' tell me ya don' think she deserves it._

_Of course she does. I just don't think we could get away with it._

_Che._ He could practically see the look of scorn on Shiro's face. _We've never let that stop us before._

_Before we didn't have the Royal Guard breathing down our necks,_ the Shinigami reminded him. _We put one toe out of line and we're _dead_. You know that._

Shiro muttered something that might have been a curse word under his breath. …_Doesn' make it any easier._

…_I know._

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_shitteiru: present indicative -te form of verb 'shiru', 'to know'_

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_Greetings to you all!_

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Obiki Doragon, Lupus-Cantus-Grimoure, exwindz, mapleroxy, Lizeth, Quetzalcoatls, marc, Jouvena, Tango Dancer, Kayla, amarielah, Iniora Nackatori, Mesonoxian, profoundlycan, Midnayuki, XiaoWing, Cherryde4th, Anti Rainbows, Furionknight, Jiyle, waj9876, mist shadow, MiravsStella, One of the Colorless, Loella, Basia Orci, Roara chan, lego825, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, Nightblader1021, Slayer End, Yami-no-Tamashii, FEIGN, dragonxxforte, KaTyXLoves, StrawberriesAndCinnamon, Goldenqueenofthecove, Kerowyn Van'Seph, fayfan, Raeser, Eternal Love's Eclipse, knownangel, The Dimension Crossing Mew, Dragon VS Phoenix, Escapedslave99, DelVarO, Hakkuchi, Dr. Butcher, hitsugayataichoda, CrimsonKitsune333, Snoara, Kuroi Kokoro 09, TsknRaider, Beijing Girl, Ice Vixen X, AllieOutOfWonderland, me, Silver-Squirrel, KitElizaKing, Shadic the Hedgehog Author (x2), Aznphoenix95, k15jensen, Sofia10Soccer, silverchildakami, JessieKage, sblack13, 10th Squad 3rd Seat, DemonFoxGirl1000, thill, lyl wind, ni, The Endless Hourglass, missyJuliette, Lady Akribos-san, ShineX, arandomreviewer (x3), Anon, Misa*D, Zoorzh, Selenay Of Antioch, Blinded in a bolthole (x6), Impressed, azuresilver, (blank #1), Astrella Lynn Kurosaki, Saharra Shadow, (blank #2), Otaku HoLic, manga-otaky-94, James D. Fawkes, Twinkling Paopu Fruit, Phoenix Flight, coreldecortavar, dimensionalarea, Yuu-chi, rpln, ennui deMorte, Akira Setsuka, Sara132, WindMirrorAutumn, SherryAi, HakunaM495, Selene Appia, AvivA-AvivA, 77TigerLily77, Pagemistress89, Caitriona695 (x5), Alpecca Ankaa Black, unregistered, V EPSILON, Phr33k (x2), xxserafinxx, Breesy8, fancyfairy, lj, Proof of Repair, AdDiCtEd*To*InSoMnIa, yarra, Deadzepplin, and gaatjegeebalaan for their reviews! You all have my deepest thanks._

_Thanks also to those of you who voiced concern over whether or not I was still breathing. As you may have guessed, I am. Nor have I been in a horrible, life-threatening accident, out of the country, dropped off the face of the Earth, abducted by aliens, or otherwise indisposed._

_I have simply been very, very busy._

_I could give a whole laundry list of excuses for not updating sooner, but I am uncertain whether or not anyone would be particularly interested in hearing it. Suffice to say, between a combination of an extremely busy Real Life, multiple ongoing projects for various online groups, and the fact that I am easily distracted by the Big Shiny Toy known as the "Internet", writing has been slow._

_Not to mention a particular scene in this chapter needed some major revision before I was willing to post it. And I'm _still_ not particularly satisfied with the final result, but at this point I doubt I'll ever be truly happy with it so I might as well post and be done with it._

_I'm not even going to try to guesstimate when the next post will be (as we can all see how well that worked out the _last_ time), but I can say with reasonable confidence that the next post will be the interlude chapter mentioned in the AN of Chapter Fourteen. The main reason for this is to re-expand my buffer zone between written and posted chapters, as it's been shrinking lately._

_I won't leave you totally in the dark as far as updates go, however. I'll be adding a 'progress' section beneath this story's synopsis on my profile page. It won't be hard to find, it's the first thing beneath the 'about me' paragraph._

_As always, please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, or think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love and so long for now,  
Nesarna  
8/7/11_

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_PS. A plate of cookies goes out to WindMirrorAutumn for being the 700th reviewer! Thank you and enjoy!_

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_PPS. This story reached the 100,000 hits mark last chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read, and I can only pray you continue to enjoy it into the foreseeable future._

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_PPPS. Before someone calls me on it, I know expulsion from a host school is a very serious matter. I know. I am, however, unsure what to replace that particular line with, and at this point I've had just about enough of revising this chapter. Apologies._


	18. Mysteries

_There are not enough words in the English language to express my apologies for how long this chapter has taken to come out. Nor are there enough to express my gratitude for sticking with this story for the entire, very-much-unwanted-by-all-involved dry spell._

_Thank you._

* * *

**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done solely for my own entertainment purposes._**

_**IN OTHER WORDS, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still isn't mine.**_

* * *

Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Seventeenth

-0-

The next morning found Ichigo in only a slightly better mood than he had been the previous night. Shiro had grumbled irritably for several hours before finally withdrawing deeper into the mindscape and leaving the Shinigami alone with his own thoughts.

He was eternally grateful he'd decided not to skive off the detention last night. Whatever the enchantment on those quills had been, it could have been designed with little other than torture in mind. It wasn't something Harry should have had to face alone – not because it was beyond his abilities to deal with, but because he just _shouldn't_.

Ichigo was not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of torture. While he himself had never been directly involved with the goings-on in some of the secret chambers of the Onmitsukidou headquarters, Yoruichi _had_, and he still counted the crazy cat-lady as one of his mentors. And Shihouin Yoruichi had been head of the Stealth Force for a _reason_. One of the many things she impressed upon him during those lessons was the importance of isolating the – er, subjects. Separation led to uncertainty, uncertainty led to fear, and fear led to weakness.

Weakness led to death.

He couldn't let the matter of Umbridge slide. Something _had_ to be done; there was no doubt about it. It was simply a matter of _what_.

As was starting to become his habit, he got up far earlier than any of his dormmates and slipped out through the deserted Common Room and through the still-sleeping portrait of the Fat Lady.

_What're we gonna do?_

Ichigo didn't reply immediately. Truth be told, he was somewhat at a loss. His usual set of options for dealing with his problems (namely, destroy whatever's causing trouble) were off the table; he rather liked having his head attached to his shoulders where it was and no matter how effective the Hollow's regeneration abilities were, he did _not_ want to test whether they could handle decapitation.

With the destructive option out of the question, that left the legal one. Unfortunately, while he was pretty sure he had a damn good case against the toad, he didn't know the first thing about the wizard's legal system, and it would take more time than he had to learn the ins and outs necessary to win a trial. Assuming, of course, that said trial actually went _through_. The short time he'd spent testifying at his cousin's hearing (and the numerous, blow-by-blow retellings that had followed in the days and weeks afterward) had been more than enough to demonstrate the flaws in the system.

Because really, who in their right mind would put high-level government officials on a panel of judges? Wasn't the point of even _having_ a court system to weed out bias and special interests when settling legal disputes?

He supposed he _could_ go to Dumbledore with the matter – or to McGonagall, or any other member of staff, but they would undoubtedly bring the issue straight to the headmaster themselves. The man undoubtedly had enough legal knowledge to argue the case, and enough political clout to ensure it actually made it to trial – but that option smacked of cowardice. The old geezer had entrusted him with Potter's safety – it was _his_ duty to look after the kid, and turning to the headmaster the moment problems arose made it feel like he wasn't doing his job, that he didn't take the responsibility seriously.

_That_ was a blow to his pride he wasn't willing to take.

Besides which, Harry had made it abundantly clear that he didn't want anyone to know what had happened in Umbridge's office. If he wouldn't tell his best friends, it was even _less_ likely that he would want to inform the headmaster. Especially since relations between them weren't exactly the best at the moment, judging by the look of suppressed anger and irritation that flashed across Potter's face whenever the old man's name came up in conversation.

So what did that leave him with?

…_I don't know,_ he answered at last. _We can't get rid of her—_

_More like ya _won't_,_ the Hollow grumbled mutinously.

_You know perfectly well why._

Shiro let out a low growl. _…Che. But I still don' get 'ow come—_

"_Psst_."

Ichigo paused mid-stride. _What was…?_ He glanced around; the hallway he was in was utterly devoid of life, save for a few portraits still snoozing in their frames._ …You heard that too, right?_

_Aa._

The Shinigami's eyes narrowed. "Who's there?"

He blinked as the pale, semi-transparent figure of Sir Nicholas emerged from behind a nearby suit of armor, looking unaccountably nervous.

"Ah, Nicholas-san. Ohayou," he said, lazily waving a hand in greeting.

"Er – yes – um, good morning," Nicholas mumbled, tugging uncomfortably his ruff.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow as the not-ghost continued to fidget awkwardly. "…Is there something I can do for you, or…?"

Nicholas gave a start. "Ah – um, well, that is to say…" he trailed off uneasily before steeling himself and continuing, "Yes, there is. The others would like to meet you. Do you have a moment?"

The Shinigami blinked. "The… who?"

Nick frowned a little. "The other ghosts. The Baron in particular has been particularly curious… It shouldn't take very long. Your – ah, appearance has put all of us a bit on edge, you see… they'd like a bit of reassurance, is all…"

Ichigo hesitated. Did he _really_ need more to deal with at the moment? Then again, he'd wanted to have a proper conversation with the castle spirits since the first night, and now was as good a time as any. As an added bonus, it would push the issue with Umbridge out of his mind – at least for a short while – and he wanted to have a clear head when he tackled _that_ particular problem.

He couldn't afford to run headlong into things. Not this time.

He gave a curt nod. "I – yeah, we've got a moment. I've been meaning to ask you lot a few questions myself. You mind?"

A look of relief crossed Nicholas' face. "No, no, I daresay… No, of course not. Could you come with me?"

Nicholas led him down the corridor and up a series of narrow, winding staircases. They travelled in silence until they reached an abandoned classroom in one of the towers.

"Ah – after you," he said.

Ichigo stepped inside, and immediately found himself in a sort of impromptu courtroom. Three spirits already sat behind the unused teacher's desk; a rather rotund man in shapeless robes waved cheerfully, but the other two looked considerably less inviting. Nick floated to join them, and a tall woman in a sweeping silver gown stood.

"Welcome, Lord Reaper," she greeted, her clear voice echoing in the silence. "We are the Ghost Court of Hogwarts. I am Lady Helena, and these are my companions Friar Lawrence and Baron Manfred. Sir Nicholas you have already met. Will you speak with us?"

He gave a wry grin and plopped down at one of the unused desks. "Only if you agree to stop calling me 'Lord Reaper.' I've got a name, you know. Use it."

"As you wish, Lord Kurosaki." The Lady gave a little smile at the look of resigned annoyance that flashed across his face. Her smile faded as she folded her hands atop the table and continued, "We of the Court have been charged with ensuring the spiritual security of this school. It is our desire to understand your intentions with regards to the inhabitants of this castle."

"My 'intentions?'" Ichigo repeated dubiously. "You make it sound like you think I'm here to kill you all. Does this have something to do with what Myrtle-san said yesterday, about 'Reapers' eating souls? I already told her the answer is an emphatic '_no_.'"

Nicholas fidgeted uncomfortably, and the Friar's broad smile seemed to falter. "Yes, well, Ms. Green did say something to that effect. It isn't that we doubt her testimony, Mr. Kurosaki, it's just that we'd like to hear it from you yourself. It's got to be official, see. And that way the rest of our charges can—"

"Speak for yourself, Lawrence," snapped the Baron. The chains on his arms clanked ominously as he leaned forward in his seat. "I for one don't believe a word of it. Who's to say he isn't simply lying about his plans? He could be fooling all of us right now, just waiting until we've lowered our guard—"

"Ms. Green has proven to be an excellent judge of character—" Nicholas protested, before he was interrupted by the blood-stained ghost, who let out a derisive snort.

"_Please_, Porpington, use what's left of that head on your shoulders to _think_ for once in your afterlife. Are you _seriously_ willing to trust the judgment of a thirteen-year-old girl? One who, might I remind you, has a history of emotional instability and—

"_Enough_, Manfred," said Helena, placing a calming, transparent hand over his. She turned her gray eyes on the Shinigami. "Though I myself admit I am curious. You are a Reaper, are you not?"

"I am," Ichigo replied curtly.

She sighed. "Then please, explain this to us. Your people are… something of a legend among ours. A folk tale, if you will. It is said whenever one of the black-clad messengers of Death appears, destruction follows in their wake. Any ghost who claims to have seen one disappears shortly afterwards." She hesitated. "…We can only assume they have been destroyed, as there is no trace of their existence left at the scene."

Ichigo blinked silently for several seconds. …_Well, that certainly explains why that girl yesterday was so frightened._

Shiro grunted in agreement.

"We're not – we don't—" he spluttered incoherently, "Whoever told you that is an _idiot_. I have _no_ idea how in the nine Hells they managed to come up with that load of bullshit, but—"

The four of them seemed rather taken aback. "Lord Kurosaki—"

"—Shinigami – we aren't – we don't destroy souls or eat them or _whatever_—"

_Speak fer yerself._

_Not now, Shiro_. "—We're _guardians_, we _protect_ spirits like you. We—" he broke off abruptly, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to put his thoughts in order. "Our duty is to protect and preserve the balance of souls between this world and the next. Part of that includes helping souls that lingered here in the human world to move on to the afterlife."

"Is that what you wish to do to us?" asked Lawrence curiously. "Help us 'move on?'"

Ichigo shook his head distractedly. "Maybe. I don't know. It can't be… Weaker spirits just aren't _made_ to stay for a long time on this plane. It's _dangerous_, for them and those around them. But…" He trailed off, running an agitated hand through his hair. "I'm outside my jurisdiction, and the divine paper-pushers tend to get pretty upset with cross-precinct traffic. Apparently it screws with whatever system they've got up there. I can't… It's best if Avalon takes the responsibility." He shrugged. "That's probably what happened to your friends."

Helena's eyes narrowed. "'Probably?'"

He scowled. "A Hollow might have gotten to them. It's always a possibility."

A possibility that was becoming more and more likely by the minute. If none of these – 'ghosts' wasn't the right word, but it was the best he had at the moment – had never so much as _seen_ a Shinigami in all the years they'd been hanging around the castle… _What_ was Avalon up to? Allowing spirits to linger in the living world, especially for so long, went completely against standard operating procedure. Of course, he knew it was logistically impossible to get to _every_ soul in time, but… there were at least five ghosts here, and Hogwarts castle wasn't quite big enough to lose track of them like in a large city. Not unless the reiatsu cloud that surrounded the castle and grounds was obscuring them, but in that case the castle _itself_ would have been enough to warrant investigation.

There was _no_ _reason_ for Avalon to have slacked. The soul-burial ritual was easily the least complicated, lowest-risk responsibility Shinigami were tasked with. Even academy students – even those who hadn't learned their zanpakutou's _name_ yet – could do it without much trouble. The only thing that might have caused a diversion of resources was if there was an exceptionally powerful Hollow wandering the countryside, but those on patrol could call for backup. And the likelihood of anything stronger than a low-class Menos coming through from Hueco Mundo was exceedingly small.

It was _his_ job to make sure of that.

But if they couldn't even be bothered to track down human souls, what were the odds they could be bothered to keep rogue Hollows from devouring all the pluses that were left behind?

"…What's a Hollow?" the portly Lawrence asked, tilting his head to the side curiously.

_That_ brought his mind to a screeching halt. He mouthed silently for a few seconds. "Er – you know, big monsters wearing masks? Large holes through the middle, kind of hard to miss? Sound familiar?"

There was a collective shaking of heads.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed as his brain once again kicked into overdrive. For whatever reason, the local Shinigami – or 'Reapers', apparently – weren't able to take care of the not-ghosts that populated the countryside. Logically, that meant they weren't in any shape to deal with any Hollows that might emerge… leaving them able to wander unchecked. The masked spirits _should_ have been common.

Except he hadn't seen any evidence of Hollows at all since his arrival in the country, now he thought about it. He wasn't exactly expecting notification from the juunibantai or anything, but he _should_ have been able to at least hear their distinctive hunting cries – if not feel the familiar reiatsu – while he'd been staying in London; the city was far too large for there to be no Hollow activity at all.

_What the hell is going on?_

For once, Shiro had no sarcastic answer.

He was pacing across the classroom now, ignoring the confused and worried looks on the faces of the Ghost Council. "…Lord Kurosaki?" the Lady said hesitantly. "Is something wrong?"

"…Wari," he muttered tiredly, coming to a halt in front of a window. He could see students milling about in the courtyard below, heading to their classes – the first bell would be ringing any minute now. "It's just… this doesn't add up. _Nothing_ adds up. If Avalon isn't… But why? There isn't a _reason_ for them to be… But the Hollows are gone as well. That makes even _less_ sense. And then there's _you_…"

Helena frowned. "How do you mean?"

The Shinigami grimaced. "…It's hard to explain. You aren't… normal," he said slowly, doing his best to articulate the problem that had been nagging at his subconscious ever since his first encounter with Sir Nicholas two days ago. "You don't _feel_ like natural spirits. There's a method of compressing reishi into artificial souls – your reiatsu has more in common with _those_ than with human spirits."

The booming bell of the clock tower echoed across the grounds.

The Baron glared. "Do you mean to say we are _creations_? That we aren't real?"

"Yes – no – I don't know." The Shinigami sighed and ran a weary hand through his hair. "I'm not an expert at this sort of thing. All the modsouls I've ever met usually look like pills when they aren't inhabiting some sort of body. You obviously don't," he said, gesturing vaguely at them. "So unless there's another way to manufacture ginkongan that I don't know about, you can't actually be artificial. But you don't have a Chain of Fate, either—"

"A what?"

"The thing that binds living souls to their bodies," he explained. "It either disappears when a Plus enters Soul Society, or it corrodes. None of you've been to Soul Society, and you _definitely_ aren't Hollows – which brings up the whole question of _why _in Kami's name you _aren't_. There's no way to avoid Hollowfication for five hundred years, or however long you've been around. It _isn't possible_, but… you can't be Pluses either."

He scowled in frustration and fixed the four ghosts with a serious expression. "Start from the beginning, and tell me _everything_ you remember since you died."

-0-

By the time he rejoined the rest of the fifth-year Gryffindors three hours later, they were already half-way through Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall's lips pursed into a disapproving frown as he entered.

"Mr. Kurosaki, how kind of you to join us this morning," she said stiffly. The entire class watched with looks of mingled curiosity and amusement. "Where have you been?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug. "I was busy."

She raised a dark, thin eyebrow. "Busy."

"Busy," he confirmed distractedly.

"With what, dare I ask?"

He simply shrugged in response.

McGonagall stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head despairingly. "Very well. Ten points from Gryffindor and a detention for being late to class. I'll expect you in my office on Saturday after you've finished with Filius. Take your seat."

He sat, studiously avoiding the inquiring gazes of his classmates. McGonagall snapped at them to get back to work, and gradually they settled back down. Hermione kept shooting him questioning glances, but he ignored her, seemingly engrossed in the second chapter of _Intermediate Transfiguration_ and scribbling out notes in rough, incomprehensible characters.

In reality, his mind was anywhere but on the text in front of him, and instead of taking notes on the text he was writing a preliminary report to send to Ukitake.

The meeting with the castle spirits had been… enlightening, in some ways, but frustratingly low on actual _facts_. The four ghosts hadn't remembered much. It had been far too long since the eldest (Manfred and Helena) of them had died for them to remember any of the details – some thousand-odd years had passed since then (he deliberately avoided thinking too long and hard about _how the hell that was possible_). Even the youngest – Sir Nicholas, apparently, was 'only' five centuries dead – couldn't recall much. An unfortunate problem, but not one entirely unexpected.

It wasn't uncommon for souls to experience memory loss upon death, especially those that didn't have very much spiritual power to begin with. Ichigo himself had never had to deal with that particular issue due to the rather… _unusual_ circumstances surrounding his own death, but he'd heard of it. The trauma of actually _dying_ created a sort of disconnect between living souls and dead ones; residents of the Rukongai rarely remembered more than their names and, if they were lucky, how and when they died – and even that tended to fade after the first few decades. Shinigami fared little better.

He'd been hoping that, since none of the ghosts had actually _been_ to Soul Society, the disconnect wouldn't have been so severe. Evidently, that was not the case.

Damn.

Well, at least the morning hadn't been _totally_ wasted – he'd managed to glean _some_ information from the meeting, even if he wasn't quite sure what it meant yet. There had been a common thread in all the stories – a few of them, actually. All had died exceptionally violent deaths: the Lady and Baron in a double homicide/suicide, the Friar had been poisoned, and Nick had had to suffer through a botched beheading before finally succumbing to blood loss.

Nicholas had described himself as afraid of dying, that he had been afraid of 'going on.' So… he hadn't. The others confirmed the same thing. Instead, they'd entered a state of what he called 'non-being.' Nick was dead – that much was certain, what with his head hanging off his neck by little more than skin and sinew – but he wasn't dead in the way that Ichigo was familiar with.

It was normal for the recently-deceased to be unable to interact with the living world, or at least with non-spiritually-sensitive people; even unseated Shinigami had some difficulty affecting the physical realm, but the Hogwarts ghosts had taken it to the extreme. The wizards and witches that inhabited the school had more than enough reiatsu to – theoretically, at least – interact with spirits, but the castle ghosts remained untouchable.

And then there was the complete and utter lack of Hollow activity, never mind that he'd seen neither hide nor hair of them since he'd arrived. He hadn't realized it at first – he'd been rather distracted the past few days, after all – but a school of this size full of spiritually-aware souls should be attracting the masked spirits in droves. Hollows were drawn to areas of high reiatsu density – Karakura didn't have more than one or two hundred residents who could see spirits (an abnormally high number for a city its size, given the normal rate was about one in fifty thousand), and back in his substitute days he'd had to deal with at least three or four Hollow attacks a day. There were at _least_ that many students here in the castle alone. Anywhere with as high a reishi concentration as Hogwarts ought to be _swarming_ with hungry Hollows.

He supposed they might have put up wards to repel the voracious spirits. It was definitely possible – many of the old nobles' estates in Soul Society had anti-Hollow kidou barriers around them, after all. But if there _was_ a barrier in place, it was much more subtle than the kind he was used to dealing with. The ones he was familiar with either prevented the Hollow from entering altogether or else vaporized them the second they came in contact with the outer edge – but since Shiro hadn't mentioned anything about agonizing pain, Ichigo didn't think there was one in place.

Still, he made a note of it in the margins of the page. He'd have to send a copy of the report to Urahara as well, see if the older Shinigami could make anything of it. He'd taken what reiatsu measurements he could with the instruments available, but the detector on his soul phone wasn't particularly advanced, so it was more or less impossible to get a detailed reading. Urahara would probably send better equipment with the next batch of the dreaded paperwork-carrying hell butterflies. And knowing the crazy shopkeeper as he did, said equipment would be 'disguised' as something weird and/or embarrassing. Probably both.

Joy. Something to look forward to.

He stared blankly into space, trying to sort out the tangled mess of thoughts and half-formed ideas currently swirling about in his mind. At the front of the class, Professor McGonagall was laying into Neville, who had somehow managed to turn the innocent garden snail he had been given into some sort of monstrous slug that dripped bright orange acid from its perch on the ceiling. Those in the desks nearest to Longbottom's were scrambling out of the way, Harry among them. As he passed, Ichigo caught sight of the half-healed cut on the back of his hand, and remembered he still had the toad to deal with.

Ichigo resisted the urge to slam his forehead into his desk. _Deep breaths, Kurosaki. One crisis at a time. You can handle this._

After a moment he sighed. There wasn't really anything else to do with the 'ghost situation' but finish writing the report and sending it to more qualified investigators – Ichigo wasn't stupid, and he knew he _could_ do it, but he wasn't a natural like Urahara or Ishida. He'd take fighting against impossible odds over lengthy detective work any day – everything was so much _simpler_ when all he needed to do was fight tooth and nail against beings that could swat away human lives like flies or invade an impregnable stronghold. But since neither the ex-taichou or Quincy were readily available… Well, he would deal with that when the time came. For the moment, though, he'd done everything he could.

That meant there was only the toad… and he _still_ had no idea what to do.

This time, his head really did make contact with the tabletop.

-0-

When the bell rang an hour and a half later, everyone shuffled to their feet and joined the throng of students heading for the Great Hall and lunch. Ichigo took his time carefully stowing the partially-completed report in his bag, and was only slightly surprised to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione waiting for him by the classroom door.

"Why were you late this morning?" Hermione demanded without preamble as the four of them made their way down the corridor.

Ichigo scowled. "I had things to do."

Her expression was disbelieving. "More important than attending class?"

The Shinigami rolled his eyes. "Yes, it was."

She didn't look convinced.

"Did it have to do with your job?" Harry asked as they all sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table.

"Keep your voice down," Ichigo muttered, eyeing Dean and Seamus sitting a few seats away, apparently engrossed in their own conversation about the odds of Seamus' favorite Quidditch team winning their next match on Saturday. "And yeah, it did. Well, sort of."

Hermione's expression immediately turned into one of concern. "Is everything alright?"

The Shinigami scowled into his plate of shepherd's pie. "…I don't know," he said at last. "Nothing makes sense. Things aren't happening the way they should be, if they happen at all. Which shouldn't – there are _protocols_ for this shit. They can't just… Something's not right, but _damn_ if I know what. It's a mess."

Ron frowned around his mouthful of potato. With titanic effort he swallowed and said, "But why didn't you tell McGonagall? I bet she'd have let you off…"

He shrugged. "It's not her concern. There's nothing she or anyone else can do about it. Besides, I don't exactly want to advertise what it is I do for a living."

"Why?"

Ichigo grimaced. "I – well, you know what it's like," he said, jerking his head in Harry's direction. "When you're different from everyone else. Some of my – er, _classmates_ don't exactly appreciate the fact that I outrank them."_ Among other things_. "I don't care what they think, but it's… kind of nice not to be glared at everywhere I go."

Harry nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

The rest of the day passed slowly, and by the time dinner rolled around, Ichigo could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. Professor Sinistra's entirely-too-complicated lecture on retrograde orbits still ringing in his ears, he slouched into a seat at the Gryffindor table across from Ron and was doling out mashed potatoes onto his plate when a voice rang out from the Entrance Hall.

"_WHAT DO YOU MEAN_, _YOU DIDN'T GET FRIDAY OFF_!"

He looked up to see a furious Angelina with her hands on her hips. Across from her, Harry scowled.

"It wasn't like I didn't – it's not my fault, take it up with Umbridge—"

She ignored him. "Listen here, Potter," Angelina hissed, poking her finger in Harry's chest. "You're a good Seeker. _Really_ good. I'd hate to lose you. But if you want to stay on the team, you've got to get your priorities straight. Training comes _first_, understand?" And she gave him one last sharp jab before marching away.

Harry's mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds. "_I'm in detention_!" he shouted at her retreating back. "D'you think I'd rather be stuck in a room with that old toad, or playing Quidditch?"

She didn't stop.

Still fuming, Harry slammed his bag onto the table, making the nearby pitcher of pumpkin juice wobble dangerously. "I don't believe it. I just – _don't_—"

"I'm sure Angelina wouldn't take you off the team," Hermione said consolingly, patting him on the arm. "And it's only lines, it's not as if it's a terrible punishment, really…"

Harry and Ichigo exchanged significant looks. "I guess so," Harry mumbled.

-0-

Detention that night was just as bad as the day before. Shiro hissed his displeasure and grumbled incoherently the entire evening. Ichigo tuned him out with practiced ease; at least his white counterpart wasn't shouting this time…

_I must not disrespect my betters_.

Reiatsu shifted, accompanied by the flash of pain he had come to expect. He scowled. It was maddening, the task they had been given. The fact that the cut kept healing over and over again each time it was made was worse, in some ways, than if it had just been left open. When it healed, there was a blessed moment before the wound opened again that was almost entirely pain-free; it was that brief second of reprieve that made it nearly impossible to simply tune out the pain the way Yoruichi had always instructed.

Really, whoever had come up with this particular method of torture had been quite the sadistic bastard.

Shiro wanted to strangle them for it. Ichigo wholeheartedly agreed.

Reiatsu shifted again. The Shinigami grimaced as the words traced themselves once again into his skin. The sense of familiarity nagged at him again. _Where_ had he felt it before? _When_? Certainly, not any time recently, but still… he _should_ have been able to recognize it. He did. It was something familiar, something he knew like the back of his hand… But where…?

_I must not disrespect my betters._

And there it was _again_. The spell curled around the tip of the quill, twisting and hardening and _sharpening_—

Wait. That was it.

_Shiro_, he said, interrupting the Hollow's most recent rant.

—_An' then I'd – what?_

_The quill. Haven't you noticed how the spell changes, right before the cut?_

The Hollow shrugged. _Aa. Yer point?_

Ichigo gave the Hollow the mental equivalent of an annoyed glare. _Notice anything about it?_

Shiro was silent for a few moments before realization hit him. _…Damn,_ he said at last. _'Ow th' 'ell'd we miss it? It's jus' like—_

—_Just like that first fight with Kenpachi,_ Ichigo finished. It was a technique they had had to master years ago: how to sharpen one's blade to pierce through spiritually-reinforced skin and bone. Channeling reiatsu into a zanpakutou was one of the first things Academy students learned when they started zanjutsu; among high-level officers (basically everyone sixth seat and up) it was practically second nature.

Because of its ubiquity, anyone who had had to fight against a zanpakutou knew _exactly_ how to counter it. It was a simple matter of shoving enough reiatsu to target area to override the blade's own cutting power.

Between the invasion of Soul Society and the long, bloody war that followed, Ichigo had spent a _lot_ of time mastering the art of fighting against zanpakutou.

If Umbridge had been watching him at that moment, she would have been unnerved by the vicious smirk that was slowly making its way across Ichigo's face.

_Time to get to work._

-0-

Unfortunately, it was much easier said than done. Gigai did not channel reiatsu well at all; they were meant to be containers, not conduits. Urahara had once mentioned constructing false bodies that would allow a Shinigami full access to their abilities, but it was a long time in the works. It was theoretically possible, of course; the Quincy, for example, had no trouble using their spirit-based powers despite their physical constraints.

The shopkeeper said it boiled down to a fundamental difference between _real_ bodies and gigai. Reiryoku flowed more easily through natural pathways than artificial ones, which made using Shinigami abilities – or Hollow ones, for that matter – much more difficult. Gigai were designed to _contain_ the soul, not _house_ it – they resisted any attempts to push reiatsu through, and the very act of _forcing_ it through the artificial pathways made the end result far less potent than it would have been otherwise.

So, when Umbridge finally let them leave (again, long past midnight), Ichigo had Shiro had made only minimal progress. It seemed that no matter how much reiatsu the Hollow funneled into strengthening their hierro, they could do no more than blunt the quill's scalpel-edge so that it dragged instead of slicing cleanly – which was certainly an improvement, at least on one level, but nowhere close to what they were aiming at.

On the other hand, the sensation of having his skin cut up by a dull knife was even _more_ painful, which was certainly saying something.

Ichigo grimaced in frustration. He'd hoped to have better results for a night's work than a slightly jagged cut. It was rare, but if a barrier was strong enough it could actually _reflect_ some of the incoming force acting on it. High-level shielding Bakudou sometimes had that effect, depending on the amount of power the caster shoved into the spell. And there were precedents for it outside the realm of kidou – Kenpachi had managed to turn part of Zangetsu's cutting power against him once, back when they had first met; he'd later learned that it had taken Hanatarou quite a bit of effort to get the muscles in his hand working properly again.

That had made him wonder if it wasn't possible to turn the quill's cutting edge against it, like Zaraki had done to him all those years ago.

When he'd mentioned this thought to the zanpakutou, the old spirit had thought it over for a long while before admitting that it _might_ be possible. Difficult – _very_ difficult, owing to both the limiters and the gigai's constriction – but possible. In principle, anyway.

So far, principle hadn't been worth much.

The Shinigami sighed. Well, progress was progress, he supposed. It wasn't like he'd be short on opportunities to practice in the near future… And he had a plan now, even if it wasn't a particularly solid one. It was _something_, at least, which was better than what he'd had before. _Be patient_, he reminded himself. _It's only the first night_.

But oh, how he _loathed_ being patient.

Harry glanced at him. "What's wrong?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Nothing… just thinking."

"…She's horrible," the younger teen said lowly after a moment. "Twisted. _Evil_."

Ichigo scowled, glaring angrily at one of the sleeping suits of armor, but said nothing.

They'd reached the portrait of the Fat Lady; Ichigo gave the password and they climbed inside. The fire had long since burnt down to ashes, but Harry lit one of the doused lamps with a tap of his wand and sat down at one of the many tables still covered in the day's thin layer of crumpled parchment and broken quills. The Shinigami raised an eyebrow.

"You're not coming to bed?"

Harry shook his head. "I've got to finish those essays for Binns and Flitwick," he said tiredly. "There's been no time at all this week, what with – with Umbridge." He reached inside his bag to extract parchment and quill, wincing as he did so.

Ichigo shot him a sharp look. "You alright?"

"…Yeah," Harry mumbled. "It's just… my hand's a bit sore, is all."

The Shinigami gave a half-hearted shrug of sympathy before climbing the stairs to the boy's dormitories. A door slammed in the distance. With a heavy sigh, Harry opened his bag, pulled out an inkbottle, quill, and roll of parchment. He had just written down the title of his essay (_The Origins and Underlying Causes of the Giant War of 1315_) when something clattered down on the table in front of him.

"Here." Harry jumped as Ichigo sat down in the seat across from him. The black-haired teen blinked and picked it up the tiny metal tin. A detailed image of an arching flower with delicate, bell-shaped blossoms was etched onto the front. Inside was a thick, whitish cream that smelled faintly of herbs.

"It's a blood-clotting ointment," the Shinigami explained. "It'll help."

Harry frowned in confusion and dabbed a bit of the paste on his hand. There was a slight tingling sensation before a pleasant numbness settled in. "Wow… Thanks." He screwed the cap back on and attempted to give the little tin back to Ichigo, but he shook his head.

"No, you keep it."

"But…"

"Really. I don't need it." Ichigo held up the back of his hand; right before Harry's eyes, the jagged wound was slowly knitting itself back together, leaving smooth, unmarked skin behind. It was more than a little unnerving to watch.

Harry stared, his eyes wide.

The Shinigami scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "…I'm a fast – uh, _really_ fast healer. A cut like this is nothing."

"But… _how_ in Merlin's name… Even Madame Pomfrey would have to use a spell," Harry muttered, trying to get over his shock. "Is that something I could…?"

Ichigo shook his head violently. "No."

Harry looked slightly put out. "But…"

"No. It's a useful ability, but the – er, process of getting it was… unpleasant."

A raised black eyebrow met that statement.

"_Extremely_ unpleasant. It hurt more than… well, imagine the worst pain you've ever felt and multiply it by about ten. It's… not something anyone should have to experience. Ever."

Harry shuddered at the memory of Voldemort's Cruciatus curse. That there could be something worse than _that_… "…I'll keep that in mind. But then why—"

"I did a lot of really risky, stupid things back then. By all rights, I should be dead." _Dead_er_, anyway._ "It's a miracle I'm still breathing."

"…Oh."

Ichigo scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "…Anyway, that stuff's just something my sister packed. I figured you could use it more than I could after… well, you could use it more than me."

Harry nodded slowly. "You're sure…?"

"Aa. Yuzu worries too much." He shook his head. "Small cuts and bruises heal over in about ten sec – minutes, and anything larger than that…" He shrugged. "Medicinal cream isn't going to help much."

Harry couldn't help but smile a little at that. "Yeah, suppose so."

Ichigo gave him a small smirk in return before pulling his own essay out of the battered briefcase and setting to work. The Common Room was filled with the quiet scratching of quill and pen for several minutes. Then Harry said, "…You miss them, don't you?"

The Shinigami looked up. "Huh?"

"Your family."

"Oh." Ichigo leaned back in his seat. "Yeah, I guess so. My sisters, mainly. Dad – uh – not so much."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Don't like him much, do you?"

Ichigo shook his head. "It's not that. He means well, but… he kind of went off the deep end after – after Mom—" he cut himself off abruptly and fell silent, staring morosely into the empty fire. After a few seconds, he shook his head as though to clear it and continued, "…Oyaji always had a few screws loose, but there was always something to keep him on track. Or at least somewhere in the _vicinity_ of the right track," he amended with a faint smile. "But without… He didn't know how to raise children, not really, so… I guess as we got older, it just never went away." He shrugged again. "We're used to it, but that doesn't mean I miss having to dodge the 'welcome home' tackles every time I walk through the front door."

The younger teen nodded slowly, lost in thought. Distantly, he wondered vaguely how his life would have been if his own parents… if Voldemort hadn't… Would his father have been the sort to take him to Quidditch matches every weekend, to slip him sips of firewhiskey at New Years' parties when his mother wasn't looking? What about her? Would Lily have fussed over every little scratch and bruise and kissed them to make it better? Would she have smiled and looked the other way and let him sneak fresh cookies and sweets from the kitchen just before suppertime? Would she have—

—He shook his head. There was no point in asking himself those sorts of questions; the dead were dead and that was that. _Still_…

"What's it like?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

Ichigo glanced at him, eyebrow raised.

Harry's face burned red. "I – I've always wondered what it's like to have a… have a family," he mumbled, his face redder than the Gryffindor banner hanging over the fireplace.

The Shinigami frowned and propped his elbows up on the table, but remained silent, waiting for Harry to continue.

"The Dursleys… they aren't really… they put a roof over my head, but… when I was younger, before I learned not to – Uncle Vernon—" His breath caught in his throat. "…They never even _liked_ me, never mind anything like _love_," he muttered bitterly, shaking his head. "I don't… I-I've wanted… I can't ask Ron or Hermione, they wouldn't really understand, but…" He shrugged helplessly. "…I guess… it doesn't matter. I just wondered what it's like, is all."

Ichigo stared for a long moment before his scowl softened. "You really…? …No, I guess you wouldn't," he muttered to himself. "Family is… Oh, hell. Family is _family_." He sighed and ran a tired hand through his hair. "It's… it's the people who love you, who make you feel… It's…" He sighed again. "Let me ask you something. What are Weasley and Granger to you?"

Harry's head cocked to the side, not having expected the question at all. "Ron and Hermione…?" He trailed off, thinking. "…They're my friends, I suppose," he said at last. "My best friends. I… I'm not sure where I'd be without either of them, to be honest. Without them, I – I'd be… lost."

"What about the rest of the Weasleys? Lupin? Black?"

"They… They're important to me," he said slowly. "All of them. I don't know what I'd do if one of them… I'd do anything if…"

"_Why_?"

"Because… because they're…" His eyes widened in dawning comprehension. "…Oh."

"_That's_ what family is, Harry," Ichigo said, grinning and once again leaning back in his chair. "It doesn't have to be defined by blood or birth or anything tangible like that. It's the experiences and feelings of warmth and trust that _make_ a family. I think you already know what that's like."

A small smile slowly made its way across Harry's face. "…Yeah. I reckon I do."

A comfortable silence fell between them. The grandfather clock in the corner struck three. Ichigo jumped.

"Shit, is it that late already?" he muttered, eyes flicking to the window. A faint, bluish tinge was already starting to appear on the horizon. "Come on, we should probably get to work if we want to finish before dawn."

Harry nodded. After a moment, he said, "Hey, Ichigo?"

The Shinigami's glanced up. "Yeah?"

"…Thanks."

-0-

Thursday's lessons passed uneventfully. Much to Ichigo's surprise, Snape seemed to have decided to treat him with the same indifferent disdain he showed the rest of the class and gave him little more than a passing glare when the Shinigami handed in his homework.

Privately, Ichigo wondered what had caused the man's sudden shift in disposition; after his – er, encounter with Shiro on Monday, he'd been expecting fear and fury. That _was_, after all, the standard reaction when confronted with an angry Hollow. The change in attitude was strange, but it didn't faze the Shinigami as much as Snape probably hoped it did. The way Ichigo figured, either the old potionsmaster had decided he wasn't a threat – probably not the case, given the incident earlier that week – or he'd finally figured out that, whether the Shinigami was trustworthy or not, he _was_ on the same side.

That, or Snape thought he had something over him. That scenario was rather unsettling, but Ichigo couldn't think of what that 'something' could possibly be. His immediate family was safely on the other side of the globe, and anyway anyone who wanted to try and mess with his sisters would have to do so over Isshin's dead body, and the Shinigami knew his father wouldn't go down _that_ easily. Half his nakama were inaccessible in Soul Society, and the other half were scattered to the four winds and otherwise perfectly capable of defending themselves.

The only other person he could think of was Harry, and the idea of Snape doing anything to deliberately harm _him_ was even less likely than him tracking down Yuzu and Karin. Whatever else Snape might be, Ichigo didn't think he was stupid enough to cross Dumbledore.

…Then again, the man _had_ been stupid enough to deliberately piss off Shiro, so who knew.

Detention that night proceeded in much the same way as the previous two, except that after the first few hours the cut on the back of Harry's hand stopped healing over entirely, leaving a trail of glistening crimson blood on the parchment.

Harry winced, biting back a hiss of pain as the quill dug deeper into his raw skin. Umbridge looked up.

"Ah," she said softly, spotting the red spots that littered his parchment. "Very good, Mr. Potter. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn't it? You may go for tonight." She gave him a small, vicious little smile that did not reach her wide, pouchy eyes. Harry twitched visibly.

Umbridge turned to Ichigo. "And what of you, Mr. Kurosaki? Has the message _sunk in_ yet?" She moved around the desk and picked up his hand in hers; the Shinigami fought back a shudder at the touch of her stubby beringed fingers. The Hollow was hissing and spitting again, what with her in such close proximity.

Her self-satisfied smirk fell instantly. Shiro's regeneration abilities were able to completely repair the quill's cut without too much difficulty, but the process was slowed considerably, down to few hours (as opposed to the usual few seconds); _his_ hand looked much the same as it had on the first night. A bit red, perhaps, but none the worse for wear.

"Apparently not, _Professor_," he said coldly.

She shot him a nasty look and dropped his hand. "Very well, very well. _You_ will stay, I think, Mr. Kurosaki." She turned to Harry, who was still lingering uncomfortably in the doorway. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get back to your Common Room, shoo!"

Harry swallowed. "I was just wondering – just wondering if I still had to come back tomorrow."

"Of course you do," Umbridge snapped. "This is your punishment for spreading nasty attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter. I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another night's work, don't you?"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but wisely closed it again.

Umbridge turned back to Ichigo. "You know what to do, Mr. Kurosaki. _I must not disrespect my betters_, remember."

As the professor returned to her desk, the Shinigami rolled his eyes and shot Harry a reassuring look. _Go_. _I'll be fine._

Harry lingered for a second more in the doorway before hurrying back to Gryffindor Tower.

He was silent was he walked up towards the seventh floor. Not even a week ago, it would never have crossed his mind that there could be a teacher he hated more than Snape… the potionsmaster might have been a bastard, but he was _honest_ about it. None of that overly-cheerful, saccharine-smile stuff that Umbridge had going on.

_Hell_, he thought, as he pushed aside a tapestry featuring several warlocks in tutus, _even _Voldemort_ is better than her – at least he doesn't try to hide the fact he's evil incarnate._

He paused, one foot on the staircase that would lead him to the seventh floor. Had he _really_ just likened his Defense teacher to the darkest wizard to ever walk the Earth?

Harry shook his head and started back up the stairwell. The comparison wasn't _that_ far off…

So distracted was he by his thoughts that, as he exited the secret passageway in a small alcove that housed the statue of Lachlan the Lanky, he promptly tripped over something long and stiff that was most definitely _not_ supposed to be blocking the path.

"Hey!"

"Oh – sorry—!" It was Ron. The redhead helped Harry to his feet. He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Er… sorry, mate."

"S'alright," Harry muttered, biting back a hiss of pain; his hand stung something awful from where he'd fallen on it. "What're you doing here, anyway?" His eyes landed on something else. "And what've you got your broom for?"

"Er – nothing," Ron said hurriedly.

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the Cleansweep Eleven that Ron was trying – and failing – to hide behind his back.

Ron seemed to deflate. "I – alright, but don't tell anyone, okay?" he muttered. "I – I was going to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. You know – for Keeper. Now that I've got a decent broom, I mean. And… well, you know Fred and George. They'd laugh themselves stupid if they saw me, so… well, I wanted to – to practice, you know, and…" he trailed off awkwardly, his ears reddening. "Um – yeah. So that's it."

Harry grinned. "That's brilliant, Ron. Never seen you play Keeper before – you good at it, then?"

"I'm – I'm not _bad_," Ron mumbled. "When we play Quidditch back home, Bill and Charlie always have me play Keeper, so…"

"Wish I could be there," Harry said wistfully, stooping to pick up his fallen bookbag. "Bloody toad."

"Yeah, I know what you—" Ron broke off abruptly, his eyes wide. "Harry," he said, very slowly and deliberately, "What happened to your hand?"

Harry glanced down at it. The limb had started to bleed afresh – apparently his little tumble had reopened the wound, for it was now dripping blood down his fingers and over the floor.

"Oh," he muttered, not quite sure what he was supposed to say. "That."

"Yes, _that_," Ron said impatiently. "Merlin, it's bleeding – we've got to get you to Madame Pomfrey—"

Harry immediately shook his head. "_No_."

"But Harry—"

"No," he repeated. "I – this isn't the first – I've got some stuff back at the dormitory – well, to be fair, it's not really mine, it's _Ichigo's_, but he gave it to me so—"

Ron was ignoring his ramblings, his mouth working silently as he tried to form a coherent sentence. "Wait a minute – did you say this _isn't_ the first time your hand's been cut up like this? And – how come Ichigo knew if you never told me or…" he trailed off in sudden realization. "Did… did Umbridge do this to you?"

It was Harry's turn to deflate. "…I… I guess I haven't been quite honest with you, have I?" he said quietly. He held up the injured appendage for Ron to inspect. The phrase _I must not tell lies_ stood out in stark contrast with his pale skin. "Yeah. She did."

The redhead looked horrified. "But – you _said_ she was giving you _lines_—!"

"She _is_," Harry interrupted. "She's got these quills – they… they use blood instead of ink. It's… painful."

"I should say so," Ron mumbled, looking sick. "I've heard of those… those _things_, Harry – overheard Dad talking to Bill and Charlie about it once. Evil, they are. Dark magic." He shook his head. "The Ministry _banned them_ from use against _suspected Death Eaters_ for being _too inhumane_." He swallowed audibly. "If she's using _those_ on you and Ichigo – where is he, by the way?" Ron asked, as if suddenly noticing the Shinigami's absence. "He's not with you, is he?"

Something resembling guilt mixed with anger flashed across Harry's face. "No, he isn't. He's still back there, with – with her. Umbridge only let _me_ go because I started dripping blood all over her stupid doilies," he said bitterly.

Ron frowned. "We've got to tell someone – McGonagall or Dumbledore or – hell, even _Snape_ – well, maybe not Snape," he amended, frowning distastefully at the thought. "But if he's still _in there…_"

"He'll be okay," Harry said, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. "He's nowhere near as bad off as I am – got some sort of weird healing ability. He'll be fine."

A look of curiosity appeared on Ron's face for a second before being ruthlessly squashed and replaced with worry. "Still, I reckon you ought to go—"

"No, I – look, I _can't_, alright? It's…" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't want her to know she's got to me or whatever – this is _my_ problem. And… I was wrong to not tell you or Hermione – and I _know that_, and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… you're both important to me, you know? I guess… I guess I never realized it until just recently. But… please. You can't tell McGonagall. Or Dumbledore. Or anyone. It's… this is _my_ fight."

Ron nodded uncertainly. "If you're sure…"

"I am."

-0-

The weather outside Friday morning seemed to have taken a turn for the worse; grey clouds roiled overhead, and every now and then thunder boomed in the distance. Ichigo's scowl was even more pronounced than usual as he sat down to breakfast – he was utterly exhausted. It had been another fruitless night of shoving reiatsu at the damnable quill, and Umbridge had kept him until nearly four in the morning. He felt like he had barely lain down on his mattress before being woken again by the movements of his dormmates.

Honestly, he wasn't sure just how much more he could do. The subtle method wasn't working. He was half-tempted to cero the thing into oblivion, but he couldn't do that without giving Umbridge even more to investigate. She was already suspicious enough as it was, and it would be… problematic if she were to uncover more than the heavily-encrypted documents he'd provided as 'transfer papers' detailed.

Harry seemed rather distracted that morning as well; there was a certain uneasiness in the way he chatted idly with Ron, apparently discussing how the change in weather would affect Quidditch tryouts that evening. More than once Ichigo spotted Ron's eyes drift down to the barely-healed cut on the back of Harry's hand. Hermione was acting rather anxious too – she kept glancing critically between the two cousins, always shifting her gaze away quickly whenever she thought he had caught her looking.

His suspicions were confirmed when Hermione pulled him aside during morning break.

"Ron told me," she said softly. "About what that – about your detentions."

The Shinigami remained silent, watching Harry and Ron across the courtyard, nervously discussing Quidditch prospects with Fred and George.

Hermione frowned. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Ichigo hesitated. "…Harry wanted it kept quiet," he admitted with a shrug. "Seemed to think it was better if you didn't know."

"Yes, I thought it might be something like that," Hermione muttered. She sighed. "Why? _Why_ did Harry lie to us? Why won't he let Ron and me help? Does he think we're weak, that we'll just get in the way? That we can't be _trusted_—"

"That's not it."

Hermione paused.

"That's not it at all, Granger," Ichigo repeated, giving the bushy-haired girl a hard look. "That's never it, and don't you _dare_ tell yourself otherwise."

She bit her lip. "But how do you _know_?"

The Shinigami glared for another few seconds before sighing. "…I – I've been where Potter is right now. Sometimes, it's… hard, to talk to people – even if you trust them with your life – about your problems. They're too… personal, I guess is the best way to put it." After a moment he sighed again. "He trusts you. He just… didn't want you to worry."

"I wasn't worried, exactly," Hermione said quietly. "It's just… I wish I could do _something_. This… what she's doing, it isn't right."

"Don't we all," Ichigo muttered. He grimaced, running a tired hand through his hair. "I've been trying to break the spell on that damn quill all week, but—"

Hermione blinked in surprise. "You've been developing a counter-charm?"

He shrugged. "Nah, nothing that complicated. Spells are like anything else: if you put enough pressure on it, it'll snap. I can break most low-level kidou spells without too much trouble, but so far the usual techniques haven't gotten me anywhere. Which tells me that—"

Hermione's eyes widened. "You're using _raw magic_?" she blurted.

"—Either my abilities are a lot more limited than – wait, what?"

"Raw magic," Hermione repeated. "Magic – energy, really – that hasn't been shaped by a spell. But only the most powerful wizards – even _Dumbledore_ couldn't…"

Ichigo quirked an eyebrow. "Granger," he said slowly, "How do you think I got my job when I hadn't even had _basic_ _training_ yet?"

"I…" She trailed off uncertainly. "I don't know. I guess I just always assumed…"

"Nepotism, right?"

Hermione flushed an odd shade of pink at his rather bland tone. "I… well… yes, I suppose so." She bit her lip. "Not that I would accuse you of anything—"

The Shinigami waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, a lot of people back home think the same thing. I'm… not exactly the most _popular_ captain the Gotei's ever had." He shook his head. "The Goteijuusantai is headed by the thirteen strongest fighters in the entire military force, each of whom is _at_ _least_ a few dozen times more powerful than the average foot soldier. The old man wouldn't have appointed me if I wasn't qualified for it."

Hermione swallowed nervously. "Oh," she said in a small voice.

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "…Anyway, if the usual methods haven't been working, whatever curse is on those quills of hers must be pretty high level." He sighed and ran a weary hand through his hair. "I've shoved everything I've got at it and _nothing_. It's… worrying. If she's using something _that_ powerful on students—"

"—It _can't_ be legal," Hermione finished. She bit her lip. "Yes, that's what I thought. Ron didn't think so either." She hesitated. "I think… if we could just get _ahold_ of one, then…"

The bell rang. With a heavy sigh, Hermione shouldered her bag and rejoined Harry and Ron as they bid good-bye to Fred and George and headed towards the castle and class.

Ichigo, however, remained rooted to the spot, eyes narrowed and his mind running a mile a minute.

Harry glanced backward. "Ichigo? You coming?"

A grim smile slowly spread across the Shinigami's face. "…Granger, you may've just given me an idea."

* * *

_Useful Translations:_

_None for this chapter._

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_Greetings to you all!_

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to Starxwind, Riotstarter1214, Obiki Doragon, reality deviant, 10th Squad 3rd Seat, pyromania, Midnayuki, SidhePrincessAislinn, fayfan, One of the Colorless, ladyyuuki16, darkmist111, Loella, Eclairhanson, Slayer End, Quetzalcoatls, Kirigakure Shura, hitsugayataichoda, Ranger Mitsuki, Ignisha, Yuu-chi, Zarosian Chaos, Sofia10Soccer, FEIGN, Eternal Love's Eclipse, MisplacedSanity, yarra, staidwaters, Basia Orci, fancyfairy, mist shadow, Symbol of forever, Phr22k, Kayla 44, xxserafinxx, Kuroi Kokoro 09, KaTyXLoves, The Darkness Factor, Masked Bard of Chaos, Selenay Of Antioch, Ciekawa Osoba, Ice Vixen X, (blank #1), DemonFoxGirl1000, AllieOutOfWonderland, moonlightrurouni (x5), Guard-y nut, Owl-Dust, sama-chan, Silver Eternity, Scylent, ArisuAmiChan, demonsinger, Martyna1, RavenWingDark, danilion, chronicLurker, reven lord of darkness, Fall into the Void, formerlyarandomreviewer, MikotoTsubasa213, APatchOfSunlight, Ciel Black018, mangafox, Fireotaku18, Coreldecortavar, TenWings, Asezuna, Lalaith Quetzalli, Wings of the Night, (blank #2), Yin Long Nocturne, Shaybo27, Justin, grimmichiforever, Ency Peterson, Twilightdragoness, tiggerbleach, HelKat, Bleedndreamz, Athexreh, Getsumen Kage no Mai, A lilmatchgirl, Krenaya, bookivore, too*cool*to*have*a*penname, Trox, Chindu Prince Of Darkness, Onlybeinghelpful, Haruna Pan, Patcher, Lyra the Heretic, WRITE MORE, LaRire, Ashley, rukiruki, Beijing Girl, Blackdex, a random, CrossoverxToxThexDarkxSide (x2), snowflakesofdoom, Kenkyo-kun, 3, bleachfan0606, Storm Blackheard, Hebi R, lilsis1232, and SoniaSnowWolf for their lovely reviews! You all have my deepest thanks._

_I would like to express my deepest apologies for how long this chapter has taken to come out. Last fall was a long, hard semester - apparently, taking a literature and philosophy class at the same time as a physics lab falls under the category of 'phenomenally stupid idea.' There were a number of times in the past few months where I knew_ exactly_ what I wanted to write and had the inspiration to do so, but those moments were often sidetracked by other thoughts, such as "But I have a twelve-page lab report due tomorrow" or "But I have to prepare for that presentation on Aristotelian political theory next week" or "But I'm supposed to read another 150 pages of _War and Peace_ by Tuesday!"_

_Yeah. Not fun._

_And, as I discovered over the break, it is very difficult to get back into the swing of writing-for-non-academic-purposes once you've had to stop for a while. I'm trying to get back into the habit, I really am - but it's not easy. This chapter has a lot of flaws, and I am far from happy with it - to me, it feels disconnected and not-quite-entirely-cohesive, which I suppose is a side-effect of having picked away at it for more than six months. With any luck, it should at least answer some of the questions/confusions that resulted from the last chapter and previous ones._

_I've made it my New Years' Resolution to write _at least_ a hundred words a day - which, though it probably doesn't sound like much, is a great deal better than what the writing rate has been - and that seems to be going well so far. Depending on how heavy my course-load is this semester, I'll try and increase that number as time goes on. We shall see._

_As for the next update, at this point I'm planning on shooting for late February/early March - most likely early March, as that's when our Spring Break is scheduled for. As with last time, update progress and semi-solid date will be posted on my profile, beneath this story's synopsis._

_As always, please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, or think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love and so long for now,  
Nesarna  
1/16/12_

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_PS. If you thought you left a review, but didn't see your name on the list, thank you. I'm reasonably sure the review system crapped out the Monday following the last update - either that, or none of the 544 people who read that day wanted to leave a review. Which - while prefectly understandable - strikes me as a statistical unlikelihood. Though you never know..._

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_PPS. Cookies to anyone who knows where the names of the Fat Friar and the Bloody Baron came from._


	19. Breaking and Entering

_Don't shoot! I come bearing gifts. That new chapter you're looking for? It's back in the Chapter 14 slot. Sorry for the confusion. Also, if everything appears out of order, it should be fixed shortly._

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_Happy Earth Day! Here's an update to celebrate._

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**_DISCLAIMER: The works incorporated in this story are the property of Mr. Kubo and Ms. Rowling and their respective publishers. I make no profit from the following, which was done purely for my own entertainment purposes._**

**_IN OTHER WORDS: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. And if you don't recognize it, it still probably isn't mine._**

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_**EDIT (4/28/12): New scene added to the end.  
WARNING: Now contains minor OCs.**_

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Harry Potter and the God of Death

-0-

Chapter the Eighteenth

-0-

"This is utterly insane," Hermione muttered, shaking her head of bushy hair. "_Mad_. If we're caught—"

"But if we _aren't_," Ron argued, "It'd be a big step—"

"But she's a _teacher_, we can't just—"

The redhead rolled his eyes. "Hermione, you can't seriously still consider that _toad_ a teacher, can you?"

She hesitated. "I – no, of course not, it's just – _stealing_—"

"Keep it down," Ichigo murmured, eyeing Dean and Seamus sitting a few feet away on the long benches. It was lunchtime, and the four of them were seated at the Gryffindor table. "Granger, if you're not feeling up to it, you can always back out now."

"It's not that I'm – that I'm _afraid_, exactly," Hermione said slowly, "It's just… we'd be going in completely blind. We have _no idea_ what sort of spells she's put on her office. What if there's some sort of ward or curse? Knowing her, it'd be something really nasty," she added darkly.

The other three frowned slightly at this – none of them had considered that possibility. "…Can't have done," Ron replied at last. "Bill says most of those sorts of spells can take days or even weeks to set up. And proper wardstones are really, _really_ rare – she wouldn't have had the time for anything _too_ horrible, I reckon."

"But she's a _teacher_, there must be _something _– even a Class-I ward would alert her if we broke in. What do you think will happen if she catches any one of us near her classroom, right at the time one of those – those awful quills of hers goes missing?" Hermione demanded. "The risk—"

"—Is one we'll have to take," Ichigo said firmly. "There're risks involved with any operation. In this case, though, I'd say the benefits _definitely_ outweigh them." He smirked. "What's she going do to me anyway, put me in detention?"

She bit her lip anxiously. "But what if—"

"I'm in," Harry said softly, interrupting her latest tirade. The other three looked at him; he had been quiet ever since Ichigo had first laid his rough plan on the table. He looked up, green eyes shining with determination, and repeated loudly, "I'm in. I say we go for it."

"Seconded," Ron agreed. "Ichigo's right, what've we got to lose? Count me in."

Three pairs of eyes turned to focus on Hermione, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I – well, alright," she said. She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll – I'll help. However I can."

"Good." The Shinigami leaned forward in his seat, glancing up and down the table for any eavesdroppers. Finding none, he continued, "Now, the first thing we'll need is…"

-0-

"I need your help."

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Ron's ears turned pink. "I'm serious."

"I'll bet you are," George muttered, accepting a single gold coin from a sixth-year Ravenclaw. He palmed the galleon, slipping it neatly into a hidden seam on the inside of his sleeve while the Ravenclaw walked away, a rolled-up Extendable Ear tucked into her pocket. He smiled brightly as the next customer cautiously approached. The two of them had set up 'shop' in the narrow alleyway between Greenhouses Four and Five. Within moments, silver had once again changed hands and another student – Hufflepuff, this time – slunk away back toward the castle, a fake, rubber-chicken wand securely hidden in his school bag.

Ron rolled his eyes. "_Seriously_. I need your help. I need to make a distraction big enough to keep everyone's attention away from the second-floor corridor."

The twins exchanged looks. "Do mine ears deceive me, Gred?" Fred asked incredulously.

"Surely they must, Forge," agreed George. "A Hogwarts prefect—"

"—Asking _us_ for help—"

"—Breaking rules? Surely, the world _must_ be ending." Both of them glanced upwards at the cloudy sky.

"Nope, not falling," Fred said. "Perhaps an earthquake?"

George shrugged. "Nah, I don't feel the ground shaking."

"Catastrophic floods?"

"Hm… well, it _is_ rather wet, but…"

"…Giant squid gone on a rampage?"

George nodded sagely. "I reckon you may be onto something there, o brother mine."

"Why thank you, dear brother—"

"_Eh-hem_."

Both stopped their discussion of impending doom to look at him with identical expressions of amusement.

"I'm serious here," Ron repeated irritably. "Will you help me or not?"

Fred and George exchanged glances. "…What're you planning?"

"'Cause we've got to know—"

"—What we're getting ourselves into—"

"—Before we agree to anything—"

"—It's just common sense, y'see."

Ron sighed. "Look, Harry and Ichigo've got this mad plan to break into Umbridge's office—"

The twins immediately made loud _shush_ing noises. "Be _quiet_, Ron," Fred hissed. George had his wand out and was waving it around the little space, whispering a long incantation. "Do you _want_ to get caught? Merlin's pants, I thought you knew better."

"What d'you—?"

"Ron, even _we_ know better than to go discussing our pranks in public," George said exasperatedly, stowing the wand back in his pocket. "Honestly, haven't we taught you anything?"

The youngest brother glared. "You two gonna listen or not?"

"We're all ears, Ronniekins."

"Right." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Like I said, Ichigo's come up with this mad idea to break into Umbridge's office and steal something out of there. If he and Harry are going to get in and out without anybody noticing, they're going to need a distraction," he explained patiently. "All I've got are some stink pellets and a couple of Fillibuster's firecrackers, so—"

"—You came to the experts," George finished.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. D'you think you can help?"

"Of course we can, little bro," Fred said amiably.

"But the question remains—"

"—What's in it for us?"

"Well, what do you want?" Ron asked, almost afraid of the reply. With the twins, everything came down to business. They would expect _some_ form of reimbursement for their services… they might ask him for money or charm his hair blue for a day or make him drop a dungbomb in the middle of Potions class. You could never know for certain which one it would be.

They seemed to consider it before reaching a decision. "Three galleons."

Ron blanched. So much for a family discount. "No way, that's much too high! Besides, you know I don't have that kind of spending money…"

"One galleon, then."

"Bollocks, five sickles!"

"Fifteen."

"Seven!"

"Twelve sickles, and that's as low as we're going," Fred insisted.

Ron thought about it for a moment. "Nine sickles, and me and Hermione'll get you off a detention."

George raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You can do that?"

Ron shrugged. "The Prefects have to consult with McGonagall before any of the detentions we give are finalized. We could probably get you off, provided you haven't gone and blown up another toilet or something."

Fred frowned. "I don't buy it. McGonagall'd call conflict of interest in a heartbeat."

"Maybe not _me_ then, but she'd listen to Hermione," Ron argued. "You know how _she_ is about the rules."

"Fair point," Fred conceded. "Well then, I reckon we've got a deal. What say you, Gred?"

"I do believe we do, Forge." They stuck out their hands, and Ron shook them both without missing a beat.

"I can't do anything with the other professors or prefects," he warned, releasing them. "Just with McGonagall."

"Better than nothing," George said cheerfully.

"Maybe it's not so bad having a Prefect in the family after all," Fred agreed.

Ron scowled at this.

George clapped his hands together, suddenly businesslike. "So. Details. What exactly do you need and when exactly do you need it?" he asked.

"I dunno," Ron said with another shrug. "Just… a distraction. We need everybody away from the second-floor corridor around… oh, about four o'clock, I think. They're planning on breaking in around then. And it'll have to last at least half an hour, just to be safe."

Fred nodded. "Why four?"

"Well, by what we can figure, Umbridge's in the Great Hall eating dinner right about then," Ron answered. "Not much point in breaking into her office if she's already in there, right?"

"True," George muttered. "What're you lot trying to steal, anyway? That fluffy cardigan of hers?"

Ron's expression immediately turned grim. "…You ever hear of blood quills?"

Fred frowned. "Might've heard Bill mention it once. Something about goblin contracts. Those're the ones that use your blood as ink, right?"

"Yeah, but that's _not_ what she's using them for," Ron said darkly. "She's got Harry and Ichigo writing _lines_ with them every night in detention. Harry's hand looks like it's been on the receiving end of a really nasty shredding hex. It was damn near dripping blood last night, and he still had trouble packing his bag this morning." He shook his head. "Ichigo reckons if we can get ahold of one, we might be able to get Umbridge – well, _sacked_ is a bit optimistic, but at least in some serious trouble."

The twins were silent for a moment, digesting this information. Then they exchanged angry looks. "What do you think, George?" Fred said crisply.

"I do believe she's crossed a line, Fred," George replied.

"That's precisely what I was thinking."

"_Nobody_ messes with our friends."

They glanced at Ron. "We've got just the thing. Umbridge won't know what hit her." Identical, sadistic smiles spread across their faces. "Just make sure those two can cast the bubble-head charm. They're going to need it."

-0-

It was a simple plan, all things considered, Hermione decided as she stepped into the library later that afternoon. Get in, get the quill, get out. Simple. Piece of cake.

It was _too_ simple, perhaps. And that made it absolutely terrifying.

Hermione was not called the brightest witch of her generation for nothing. She could recall information almost instantaneously after hearing or reading it once, perform complex charms and transfigurations correctly within a few tries, brew textbook-perfect potions, and had an insatiable curiosity that led her to know more about obscure magic than was probably healthy for a girl her age. Or of any age, for that matter.

But her brilliance also made her very much aware of her own limitations. Painfully so.

She knew, with horrible, gut-wrenching clarity precisely what she could and could not do. She did not have Ron's natural skill at adjusting his plans to fit the circumstances, nor Harry's ability to come up with ideas on the fly, nor Ichigo's… Actually, she wasn't entirely sure _what_ exactly made _him_ so confident the tenuous plan would succeed. Experience, she supposed.

She could usually compensate for her lack of practical skills by preparing. When she'd first received her Hogwarts letter, she'd had no idea what to expect from the teachers - so she'd made sure she could do all the first-year spells flawlessly, even going so far as to memorize the textbooks. She didn't know what sort of spells might come in handy at some point or another, so she made a point to learn everything she could. She could never be sure what the world of magic – this strange, wonderful world where up was sometimes down and two and two could, in fact, make fish – would throw at them next, so she studied and studied and planned and planned, in the hope that – not matter what happened – she wouldn't be caught unprepared.

…Not, of course, that her efforts always helped. The 'Are-You-A-Witch-Or-Not' incident was no less embarrassing now than it had been in her first year. She liked to think she had improved since then, even if only a bit, but she couldn't deny that a tiny part of her was _very_ grateful that the easiest, least dangerous part of the 'plan' (if it could be called that) had fallen to her.

Still, the lack of concrete plan unnerved her. Her mind buzzed with the myriad ways something could go wrong – and there were _many_. What if Umbridge _had_ had time to put wards – serious wards – on her office? What if she caught them entering – or worse, _exiting_ her office? And it didn't even have to be her – if _anybody_ saw them leaving and reported…

Ichigo had been wrong, Hermione thought. Umbridge could do far more than simply give them all detention, or take away house points. She was a teacher – a horrid one, but a teacher nevertheless – and that meant she had the power to _expel students_. Of course, it would all have to be confirmed by Dumbledore, but even the headmaster couldn't afford to sanction the destruction of personal property – especially a _teacher's_ – no matter how well-intentioned it had been. At the very least, they would all lose House Points and earn several months' worth of detention. By some miracle, she, Harry, and Ron had gotten away with a great deal of rule-breaking in the past, but if they were caught red-handed—

_Stop thinking about it_, she told herself sternly. It did nothing to settle the uncomfortable feeling of dread churning away in the pit of her stomach.

She sighed, earning herself a disapproving look from Madame Pince, who was re-shelving a stack of books labeled _Edward the Enlightened's Encyclopedia of Everything, vol. V – XV_. Hermione ignored her. If only there had been more than a scant hour to plan – it was all so very sudden. What she wouldn't give to have her old Time-Turner back. While she never wanted a repeat of the fiasco that had been her third-year course schedule, she had to admit the little device would have been _much_ appreciated right now.

But she didn't have it anymore, and there wasn't anything she could do about it. There wasn't time to consider all the what-ifs and if-onlys – she had a job to do, and she'd be _damned_ if she didn't get it done. People were counting on her; she would _not_ disappoint them.

With this in mind, she squared her shoulders and marched straight towards the rear of the library.

The shelves were abnormally quiet – nearly everyone had gone outside, celebrating the end of the first week of class. None of the few remaining students gave her a second glance as she passed. Which was to be expected; Hermione had a reputation throughout the school as one of the premier bookworms in the castle.

And that was _exactly_ why she had been selected for this particular task.

Furthest from Madame Pince's desk were the shelves dedicated to that most esoteric of subjects: Wizarding Law. There were even fewer students here than in the rest of the library – only students planning on joining the legal branch of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement ever came here, and they were few and far between. At the moment it was quite deserted.

Hermione paused, scanning the book titles. Her familiarity with this section was limited to her experiences founding S.P.E.W. and Buckbeak's trial, but it shouldn't be too difficult to find what she needed… Her eyes landed on one particular weighty volume: _Protocols and Regulations of the International Confederation of Wizards._

Perfect.

Nearly half an hour later, Hermione staggered under a stack of books that very nearly towered over her head. Craning her neck to get a better view over the pile of books in her arms, her eyes glanced over the shelves, looking for anything potentially useful she might have missed. With nothing jumping out at her, she nodded to herself and headed back to the main portion of the library.

Precariously balancing the tower of texts on one arm, she glanced at her watch; there were only ten minutes before the other aspects of the plan were implemented. She hurried over towards Madame Pince's desk. She had to be quick. It would not do to get trapped in the hallways or the library once they were – she wasn't sure what it would involve, but given that Ron had gone to Fred and George—

"Oof!"

Pages flew every which-way as Hermione toppled to the floor. "Oh no, I'm terribly sorry, I should have—" she babbled, trying to pick all the books up before Madame Pince came to investigate the source of the noise. The old librarian was _very_ protective of her books, and if she saw them scattered all over the ground… well. Best not to think about it.

"It's no trouble," the other girl said. "I should have been more careful – just a moment, let me—" she drew a thin wand from her sleeve and swept it over the fallen books. At once, they flew into the air and stacked themselves neatly on a nearby table.

"Thank you," Hermione muttered, getting to her feet and brushing dust off her skirt. "I—" she broke off, catching sight of the green and silver crest pinned to the other girl's robes. Her eyes narrowed. "I suppose I should have watched where I was going."

"Well, it certainly wouldn't hurt," she said mildly, straightening her glasses and slipping her wand back into her robes. "But I should have been more careful myself. Do you need help with those?" she asked, gesturing to the pile of books. It tottered dangerously on the table top. "It's an awful lot for one witch to carry by herself."

Hermione hesitated. They _were_ rather heavy, but then again… "If… if you're willing," she said tentatively. She hoped her voice didn't sound as confused as she felt.

"It's no trouble." The brunette placed her own book – a comparatively thin volume – on the stack and took several from the top. Hermione grabbed the rest, and was somewhat surprised by how much lighter the pile was. She'd half-expected her to take only a few of them. "I'm Tracey Davis, by the way. I don't think we've ever been properly introduced."

Hermione flushed redder than the Prefect's badge pinned to her robes. She had indeed seen the Slytherin in her Potions class and around the school for years, but had never once spoken to her. It was with a jolt that she realized how _few_ of her classmates she'd actually ever really talked to. "Ah – no, I don't think we have. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Yes, I know," Tracey said dryly, a slight smile on her face. "Most of the school knows who you are."

If possible, Hermione blushed an even darker shade of scarlet. Tracey laughed quietly, but it was not a condescending laugh; it seemed more amused than arrogant. Hermione quickly cast around for a change in subject. Her eyes landed on the book atop Tracey's pile. "_Magicks of the Far East_? What're you reading _that_ for?" she blurted, completely surprised. A split second later she realized who she was talking to and paled dramatically. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be asking, it's none of my business—"

The Slytherin girl frowned slightly. "No, it isn't," she said, shaking her head. "But I'd have thought you knew. You're friends with the new transfer student, right?" At Hermione's hesitant nod, she continued, "A friend and I… saw him use one of his spells the other day. It was… interesting."

The brunette nodded slowly. She felt an odd sense of jealousy; she'd spent _months_ over the summer practically begging to see a kidou spell with no success. That _Davis_ – a complete stranger – had gotten a demonstration so easily was… There had to be _some_ sort of story behind that. Hermione's curiosity burned to know, but for once her better judgment won out. "…I see," she said at last.

They had reached the front desk. Tracey unloaded her half of the books on Madame Pince's desk, taking the copy of _Magicks of the Far East_. Hermione followed suit. "Thank you," she muttered, tucking a lock of bushy hair behind her ear. "For your help, I mean." The words sounded strange to her ears; the concept of actually having to _thank_ a member of the House of Snakes was… rather strange, to say the least. Her past experiences with that particular House hadn't exactly been overwhelmingly positive, after all. The world wasn't _quite_ flipped around on its axis, but it certainly wobbled dangerously.

If Tracey noticed her discomfort, she ignored it. "No trouble," she said. "Good luck with your studies."

As the bespectacled girl walked away, however, Hermione burst out, "Why?"

Tracey turned, regarding her with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione felt her face heat up again. "I mean," she said defensively, "Why are you being so… nice to me? I'm a Gryffindor, and you're… well…" She gulped. "…Not."

Tracey gave her a small, sad smile. "Your friend helped _me_ out when I needed it, Granger. I'd like to think this is a small part of my paying him back."

And she left, leaving behind a _very_ confused Hermione Granger. Hermione stared for a several moments, her brain – for once in its existence – not quite sure what to make of it all. She was broken out of her reverie by the bell to signal the end of class echoing through the hallways.

"Oh, damn," she muttered, quickly shoving the stack of books toward the annoyed librarian. If everything was still on schedule, the 'plan' was due to begin in less than five minutes. She needed to get back to the Common Room quickly, or else run the risk of being caught in… whatever it was Ron and Fred and George had set up.

Knowing the twins as she did, whatever it was, it would _not_ be pleasant.

-0-

"You're sure about this?"

"Of course I am."

"It'll be risky."

"I know."

Ichigo paused, his foot on the stone step of the marble staircase, and fixed his younger cousin with a level gaze. "I mean it. I don't know what'll happen when we're in there, but spell backlash can be really, _really_ dangerous."

Harry glared right back. "Like I said, I don't care," he said heatedly. "You're not the only one with a bone to pick with Umbridge. This is as much my problem as yours."

"I know that," the Shinigami protested. "Trust me, I know _exactly_ what you're talking about. It's only that…"

"Only that what?"

Ichigo hesitated. "…I don't want you getting hurt, is all," he muttered at last, looking away. "If you wound up in the hospital because of something _I _did…"

Harry was silent. He wasn't quite sure whether to feel touched at the concern or annoyed at the Shinigami's over-protective tendencies. "I'm not sitting this out," he said after a moment. "I'll be okay. Don't worry about me."

Ichigo gave a sour laugh. "I'll try. Just… if I tell you to run, _run_. Got it?"

"…Fine," Harry conceded grudgingly. "I suppose I can live with that."

Ichigo's shoulders visibly slumped in relief. "Arigatou." They started back up the stairs, headed for Gryffindor Tower. Harry had mentioned there were a couple of things in the boy's dormitory he wanted to grab, but his explanations of what they were had left the Shinigami rather confused. A map and some sort of cloak? How on earth would those be of any help?

As they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, a group of fourth-year students were climbing through the portrait hole on the way to dinner. Several of them shot Harry and Ichigo looks of mixed curiosity and fear as they passed, but one broke away from the group, grinning widely.

"Hi Harry!"

The wizard in question waved weakly. "Uh – hello, Colin."

"How was your summer?" Colin asked, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Mine was okay I guess. What're you doing? You want to come eat dinner with me and Dennis?"

"Er – thanks for the offer, but I've got detention tonight," he said. He gestured to himself and Ichigo. "We were just going to drop off our bags, so…"

"Oh." The young boy's energy seemed to evaporate almost instantly. "That's right. I heard about what you said to Umbridge," he mumbled. "And – well, _I_ believe you, and so does Dennis. We're behind you, all the way."

Harry looked oddly touched. "I… thanks, Colin. That means a lot."

"I mean it," Colin said seriously. "I don't get how the _Prophet_'s been managing to publish all those awful stories about you and Dumbledore. My mum says it's absolute rubbish, and she doesn't even follow magical politics that much."

"Pretty smart, your mum," Harry agreed. He glanced at his watch. "Um – look, Colin, I'm sorry but we're kind of in a hurry, so…"

"Oh – yeah! Not a problem. I'll see you later. Hey, maybe next time we can get some photos! That'd be _so_ _cool_!"

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. Typical Colin. "Yeah, maybe."

"_Awesome_!" Colin grinned. "Well, bye Harry!" And he sprinted off down the hall.

"Bye, Colin," Harry echoed tonelessly after his retreating form. He turned back to Ichigo, who was controlling his smirk with some difficulty. "Don't. Say. A. Word."

"Wouldn't dream of it," the Shinigami said, though he couldn't quite keep the laughter out of his voice. "Though I must admit, I'm glad my fans never did _that_."

Harry quirked an eyebrow as they climbed into the portrait hole. "You have fans? What'd you do?"

"War hero, remember?" He shook his head. "That lasted all of two months."

"Yeah? How'd you get rid of them?"

A shadow seemed to cross Ichigo's face for a moment before settling back into its usual neutral scowl. "…I guess they figured out I wasn't as perfect as they thought I was."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "…That makes sense," he said at last. There was more to the story, he was certain – but now was not the time to ask. They climbed the spiral staircase in silence. Once they reached the dormitory, Harry opened his trunk and rooted around inside for a few moments before extracting a smooth, silvery sheet of cloth and a worn piece of parchment.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow as Harry cleared his bedside stand of its contents (_Flying with the Cannons_, which he'd been rereading for what had to be the fifth time – it made for good bedtime reading) and unfolded the parchment.

"_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_," he said, holding his wand to the blank sheet.

Before Ichigo's eyes, thin, spidery lines spread from the center, bending and connecting together in an elaborate pattern. The diagram nagged at something in the back of his brain, but he couldn't quite place… Sprawling text appeared at the top of the parchment bearing the slogan:

_Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs  
__(Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers)  
__are proud to present:  
__THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

"…A map of the castle?" Ichigo guessed. Now he got a good look at it, he could identify some of the locations on it – there was the Great Hall, and the corridor leading off to the dungeons, and the staircase leading to the upper floors… And everywhere he looked, there were these strange, oddly-shaped spots that moved all over the page, almost like ants. As he leaned in closer, he could see that each of the spots had the same shape. They were rounded at the top, widened a bit and then tapered off again – the silhouette was distinct, almost like—

"Not just any map," Harry said. "The _Marauder's_ Map. This shows the location of every person in the castle and grounds at any given time."

"Impressive," Ichigo muttered, unable to keep a note of genuine surprise out of his voice. Sure enough, if he looked closely, he could see each of the dots – tiny human figures, really – had an equally tiny label beneath its feet. He spotted Hermione Granger's dot flitting around the library, while Fred and George could be seen loitering near the Charms corridor. "You said it shows _everyone_ in the castle?"

Harry nodded. "With this, we'll be able to see if anyone's coming," he explained. He held up the cloth. "And this'll help us get around if they do."

The Shinigami eyed it curiously. "What is it?" It very clearly wasn't normal, whatever it was – the fabric rippled and flowed like water beneath wind, despite the fact that the air in the dormitory was quite still.

That, and the fact it practically _glowed_ with reiryoku.

"My dad's old invisibility cloak," Harry said, a hint of pride in his voice. "You could stand a foot away from someone and they'd have no idea you were there. It's big enough for both of us, if we need it."

Ichigo stared.

Harry grinned, and with a flourish, the cloak was over his shoulders. A flick of his wrist brought the hood over his head, and both Harry and the cloak _vanished_.

The Shinigami's heart immediately skipped several beats. Not only had Potter disappeared from the visible spectrum, but his reiatsu was completely gone as well. It was like he'd simply… vanished off the face of the Earth. Or perhaps like he had never existed at all – even the traces of it in the air, near his trunk and bed, had vanished. No one, not even Yoruichi, could disappear _that_ quickly and absolutely. Even she left a trace on the world, a sign of her presence that someone could find if they looked hard enough.

"Ichigo?" Harry's disembodied voice sounded concerned. "Are you okay? You look a bit pale."

The Shinigami shook himself. "I – I'm fine. A bit… surprised is all."

"I _did_ say it was an _invisibility cloak_," Harry muttered, reappearing and draping the cloak carefully over his arm.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "I got _that_. I just wasn't expecting it to be so… thorough."

Harry paused, mid-way through the process of refolding the Marauder's Map. "How d'you mean?"

Ichigo grimaced. "…Have I explained what reiatsu is?"

The dark-haired teen shrugged. "A little. It's a bit like magic, right?"

"Sort of. It's… well, it's closer to _life force_. Shini – my school teaches its students how to feel it. Sort of like an extra sense, I guess." Ichigo gestured to the silver cloth hanging from Harry's arm. "When you were wearing that – that cloak, it was like you… like you'd _died_."

Harry swallowed, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. The light material suddenly felt a great deal heavier than it usually did. "Oh," he said after a moment. "Yeah, I guess that _would_ be kind of – er – strange. Um. We can leave it here, if you'd rather…"

Ichigo shook his head. "No, keep it. You're right, it's too useful _not_ to take. It caught me off guard, but next time I'll be ready." He glanced at his watch. "We should get going, it's nearly time."

Harry nodded. He refolded the map and – with a split-second's hesitation – the cloak, stowing them carefully in his schoolbag. "Right. Let's go."

Lightning flashed as the portrait of the Fat Lady closed behind them, rain pounding heavily against the high windows as they walked through the halls. Harry sighed.

Ichigo glanced at him inquiringly.

"Just thinking about Quidditch tonight," Harry said, gesturing vaguely at the rain-soaked sky. "Wondering whether or not Angelina'd postpone tryouts if the weather doesn't let up."

Ichigo frowned as thunder rumbled off in the distance. "Wouldn't she have to? Flying in the middle of a storm's dangerous." He certainly had enough unpleasant memories of trying to hunt down Hollows in the rain – lightning was an additional hazard that made the normally routine task _much_ more complicated. Spirit or not, electrocution _hurt_, and zanpakutou had an unfortunate tendency to act as impromptu lightning rods, usually at the worst possible times.

Harry shrugged. "Not necessarily. Quidditch doesn't get called off for much other than a hurricane, so—"

_BANG!_

"I think that's our cue," Ichigo muttered as several loud shouts erupted from downstairs. Harry nodded, and they ducked behind a nearby statue of a one-eyed, humpbacked witch, waiting hidden while a crowd of students ran past, all looking rather green in the face.

When the last of them had disappeared around the corner, the pair of them emerged from behind the statue and crept down the hall. Upon approaching the second-floor corridor, it became immediately obvious _why_ it had been so thoroughly vacated.

Noxious fumes filled the hall – a mixture of bad eggs, cheap perfume, manure, and the overpowering smell of week-old fish. The odor was cloying; the very air itself seemed somehow denser than it usually did, burning Harry's tongue and throat every time he inhaled. He fought the urge to gag – he could feel bile rising in the back of his throat, and he had to force himself not to empty the contents of his stomach onto the flagstone floor right then and there. Off to the side, Ichigo seemed to be faring little better.

"This is worse than Seireitei's sewers," he muttered, looking vaguely ill. The rotten seafood he could deal with – but there was another scent beneath that, one that smelled distinctly of rotten, burning flesh. No matter how many he came across it (which was unfortunately rather often, given his line of work), it was one he could never get used to.

_Tell me 'bout it,_ Shiro groaned. Ichigo winced; Hollows were notorious for having a much better sense of smell than ordinary spirits, and his own was no exception. As bad as it smelled to him, he didn't particularly want to speculate about what Shiro had to be suffering through right now.

"Definitely worse than cleaning out Aunt Petunia's compost pile in July," Harry agreed. He pulled out his wand and tapped himself on the head. "_Bubligaleam_." At once, a thin film, not entirely unlike a soap bubble, appeared over his head. He looked rather like he was wearing an upturned goldfish bowl as a hat. He did the same to Ichigo a moment later, and the Shinigami immediately inhaled several lungfuls of suddenly-clear air.

"Arigatou," he said appreciatively. Ordinarily the idea of having a giant soap bubble on his head would have been off-putting (to put it mildly), but at the moment he didn't care. Not having to breathe the foul-smelling air was worth the inevitable embarrassment this would cause. And judging by the lack of amused laughter, even the Hollow was grateful.

The corridor was quite deserted. Even the portraits had fled – apparently, they still possessed their full olfactory abilities, even in paint form. As they approached Umbridge's office door, Ichigo spotted a small, brownish cylinder nearly hidden by the plinth of a nearby suit of armor.

"What's that?" Harry asked, as the Shinigami picked up the tube. His voice was oddly muffled by the bubble around his head, but still quite audible. The ends of the canister were still smoking slightly, and it left a grayish-green, powdery residue on his hands. Words were messily scrawled on the side in what looked like permanent marker.

"'_DD v5.2.6 ExpEnt no153_,'" Ichigo read off the side. "'_Danger_: _Do not under any circumstances expose to heat, fire, liquids, blasting spells, cutting spells, loud noises, or fairy dust. Do not drop. Handle with extreme caution. If found please return to F&GW._'"

"Must belong to Fred and George, then," Harry said. "Well, give it here. They'll probably want it back." He wrapped it carefully in an old handkerchief and buried it deep inside a pocket of his bag. He raised his wand to the door. "_Alohamora_."

The lock clicked softly and the door swung open. Harry and Ichigo crept inside. The doe-eyed kittens mewled piteously from their plates, noses buried in their painted paws and satin bows. Ichigo ignored their evident distress and walked over to the desk.

"It's in here," he muttered, running a hand over the smooth, wooden surface. The quill's distinctive dark, almost slippery reiatsu was definitely emitting from somewhere inside.

"You find it?" Harry asked from where he stood near the door, examining one of the painted plates with a sort of morbid fascination.

Ichigo nodded. "Aa. Give me a minute…" He crouched down, tugging at one of the drawers. It didn't budge, but there was no evidence of a lock…

"Let me try," Harry said. He pointed his wand at it. "_Alohamora_," he repeated. The drawer remained firmly closed. "_Dunamis_." Still nothing. "_Liberare. Emancipare_. _Annihilare_."

Nothing. Nothing. _Nothing_.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. There was a faint barrier around the entire desk, buzzing against the edge of his senses. He frowned, shoving his reiatsu at it.

The desk drawer remained resolutely closed.

His frowned deepened. His face screwed up in concentration, he gathered up as much power as he could and battered at the spell again.

The reiatsu cloud seemed to waver, but otherwise remained very much intact.

_Chikushou_. Whatever it was, it had to be at _least_ mid-level. "There's some sort of shield," he announced. "It's too solid to break through. Not easily, at least. And not in the time we've got."

"But Ron said she wouldn't have had the time," Harry said, confusion evident in his voice.

Ichigo shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe there's some sort of anchor." He'd heard Hachi mention the concept of ikariyou a few times before; from what he understood, they were very useful for maintaining long-term, powerful bakudou spells. It created, in essence, a sort of portable barrier. Once cast on the stone, the spell could be almost instantly re-cast, and required far less energy to maintain once erected. Hachi himself had used one with his _Hachigyo Sougai_; that was how the eight of them had managed to survive for over a hundred years while constantly on the run.

"Could be," Harry conceded. "I don't know much about wards – Hermione would, she's studied runes. But if there's no way to get through…"

The Shinigami scowled, glaring at the resolutely shut desk. _Dammit. I'd hoped not to have to do this…_

_Ya mean—?_ The Hollow grinned. _'Bout damn time_.

_They'll find us_.

Shiro scoffed. _We ain' 'idin'. Let 'em come_.

A grim smile spread across Ichigo's face. _Point_. "There's a way," he said. He glanced at Harry. "Keep an eye on that map of yours and get ready to move."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What're you—?"

"Something very stupid. Just watch the map."

The black-haired teen grimaced. "Fine," he grumbled irritably. He unfolded the map and looked at it critically. Apart from Peeves bouncing around the trophy room on the floor above, most of the black dots were still clustered in the Great Hall. A few people had crept closer to the corridor, but were still keeping their distance; Umbridge was among them. "Looks like Umbridge's trying to head this way, but can't. Maybe she's not having much luck clearing out the stink bomb or something. We're safe for now, but you should probably hurry it up with whatever it is you're doing."

"Got it." There was a few second's pause before—

Something burst like a white-hot fireball across some sense that Harry didn't even know he had. His brain felt like it was going to implode and his pupils shrunk to pinpricks as he curled in on himself, hands shaking uncontrollably. It was so strange and horrible and terrifying all at once – he felt so _small_ and _weak_ and _helpless_… He felt like—

And then it was over. Harry was slightly surprised to find himself curled up on the floor. He raised himself up on trembling limbs, surveying the damage. The windows had burst, scattering broken glass all over the floor, and the many kitten-covered plates had broken, their occupants hissing and spitting at the abuse. The rows of shelves had fallen, their contents landing in a jumbled pile. Even the little lace-covered table where they'd been serving detention for the past week was ruined, having been blown unceremoniously into the rather unforgiving stone wall. And the Bubble-Head Charm had burst, the awful smell from the hall returning in full force. Harry clamped a hand against his mouth, forcing the remains of his lunch back into his stomach.

About the only object in the room still intact was the desk itself. Well, unharmed but for the small tongues of what looked like black, red-tinged flames that still clung to the surface. Ichigo stood beside it, his breathing slightly heavier than it had been before but otherwise quite unharmed. In his hand, he clutched a white, beaded bracelet. Harry frowned at that – Ichigo had taken to wearing one on each wrist ever since that Urahara man had come to Grimmauld Place, but he hadn't thought it anything other than some sort of odd fashion statement.

That didn't seem to be the case anymore.

"Shimatta – are you okay?" he asked, helping Harry to his feet. He seemed utterly unconcerned by the destruction of the office itself, nor by the wisps of black fire that littered the ground where he had stood.

Harry nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak. The ringing in his ears hadn't quite yet diminished, either.

Ichigo visibly sagged in relief. "Thank Kami. I thought – I didn't think the reiatsu backlash would be that bad, I – I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I should have realized…"

"I'm alright," Harry said. His voice sounded hoarse and weak, even to his own ears. "Really. Just a little shaken up."

Ichigo nodded, slipping the bracelet back on his wrist, and glanced at the Map where it had fallen on the floor – several dots were converging on their location. He swore. "We've got company."

"R-right," Harry mumbled. "Er – _Accio Umbridge's quills_!"

Something inside the desk shook, and a hidden compartment on the bottom sprang open. Two very familiar pointed black quills flew out. Harry snatched them easily out of the air. "Let's go."

They left, hurrying towards the upper floors. The smell in the hallway seemed thinner – the windows in the corridor had been shattered as well, letting in fresh air. Voices could be heard from the staircase leading to the floor below.

"…whether or not I should be _concerned_, headmaster," Umbridge's sickly-sweet voice came floating up the stairwell. "If you are letting that awful _Cerberus_ or some other monster near the children again—"

"I assure you Dolores," said Dumbledore mildly, "That no dark creatures have taken up residence in this castle. I am sure your office is quite unharmed – perhaps this was merely a prank pulled by one of our more… ah, adventurous students."

She let out a little huff of disbelief. Their footsteps were drawing closer.

"_Quick_," Harry hissed, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over their shoulders. They disappeared from view just as the tip of Dumbledore's hat came into view, followed swiftly by the man himself and the much shorter, pink-clad figure of Umbridge.

"Be that as it may, _headmaster_," she said, drawing out the professor's title in such a way as to make her disdain for him clear, "I daresay the discipline in this school is severely lacking…"

Ichigo held his breath, certain they would be spotted. Stealth had never been an area he particularly excelled in. Quite the opposite – between his vibrant hair and more-or-less untamable reiatsu that marked his location like a neon sign, he'd never been able to really hide in any sense of the word. It was something that caused Yoruichi no small amount of exasperation, and more than a few failed missions before the higher-ups had finally figured out that he was better suited to being the _distraction_, rather than the _infiltrator_.

But neither Umbridge nor Dumbledore seemed aware of their presence. They passed without ever even glancing at the two teenagers hidden beneath the cloak.

"That was close," Ichigo muttered, as the two professors vanished around the corner. "Remind me to never, _ever_ doubt your magic again."

Harry shot him a wan smile. "Duly noted." The pair of them crept back up the stairs. They were just passing the trophy room when an enraged shriek echoed up from the floor below. "Looks like the toad's found her office."

Ichigo opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a door banging open and a brightly-colored little man in a bell-covered jester's cap burst into the hall. Peeves turned several somersaults in the air, cackling like a madman, before he froze upside down near the ceiling, dark eyes flicking up and down the corridor.

"Who's there?" he said, speaking to the empty corridor. "Peevesy knows you're there, should call a teacher, he should, if there's invisible intruders stalking around… come out, come out, wherever you are, Peevesy doesn't bite…" He giggled. "…Much."

Harry cursed under his breath. They'd almost made a clean getaway… Damnable poltergeist. But maybe – it worked once before… "Peeves," he croaked, lowering his voice in a poor imitation of the Bloody Baron's, "The Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible…"

The poltergeist gave a fake little scream. "Oh no, Mr. Baron sir! Peevesy didn't realize – whatever shall Peevesy do?" he moaned, placing a hand to his forehead dramatically. He flipped himself right-side up, his terrified expression evaporating. "Nice try, but Peevesy won't fall for that one this time. Fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice… Peeves'll _scream_."

"Sorry," Harry muttered under his breath. "It worked before…"

"It was worth a shot," Ichigo whispered back. "Don't worry about it."

"Peevesy _can_ hear you, you know," he sing-songed, flipping himself once more on his back.

The Shinigami grimaced. "I'll deal with this. You get back to Gryffindor Tower and drop off the quills. I'll… meet up with you."

"…Alright," Harry said hesitantly. They didn't have much time; a glance at his watch told him it was nearing a quarter to five already, and he and Ichigo had to be back at Umbridge's office, sans cloak and quills, at precisely five 'o clock to avoid arousing her suspicion. "Just don't take too long."

Ichigo shot him a reassuring smirk as he ducked out from under the cloak. "Congratulations, you found me," he drawled, his arms spread wide in a gesture of surrender. "Now what? You going to report me to the headmaster?

"Perhaps I ought to," Peeves said coolly. "Considering what you _are_. Who's the other one?"

Ichigo's expression remained carefully blank. "There's no one else. Just me."

The poltergeist snorted disdainfully. "_That's_ likely. You're not exactly known for your… _subtlety_, Reaper. Or was it Godslayer? I forget what they've taken to calling you these days."

Harry, who had just started up a secret staircase that lead up to the seventh floor, paused at this. _What…?_ He crept back to the tapestry hiding the secret passage, peering through a small moth-hole in the threadwork.

Silence reigned in the corridor for several seconds. "…Where did you hear that name?"

Peeves laughed. "There're hardly any of us who _don't_ know who _you_ are, even here in the living world. The one who refused the Moon Demon his due? Lunatics like that only come around every couple thousand years, and the ones who actually _get away with it_… well, that's _never_ happened." He snickered again. "Though I must admit, it took me a while to recognize you. I expected you to be… taller."

"Sorry to disappoint," Ichigo said dryly. "So, what are you going to do with me?"

The poltergeist made an odd little hmm-ing noise. "Well, I could report you to Dumbledore. It's very poor taste to destroy a professor's office like that, you know. Oh yes, he felt that little display of yours, Peevesy did. The whole school did. Imagine what dear old Dolores will do when she finds out…"

"I've seen more than anything she could ever _dream_ of throwing at me." There was no hint of arrogance or pride in that statement, just a calm assuredness that spoke of already having been faced with the worst the universe had to offer and living to tell the tale. "Let her try."

Peeves cackled. "You – you really have _no idea_ what they're capable of, do you? You think all there is are you pathetic little Reapers and your pet Hollows?" He laughed again. "Oh, think again, Godslayer. Think again." His voice dropped to a quiet murmur. "You've no idea what they're capable of. _She_ can do things to you that would leave you broken like those plates in her office… What did you _think_ happened to your comrades in arms, hmm? And then it'd be so _easy_ to just—"

He broke off with a strangled _hrk _sound. Ichigo had grabbed Peeves mid-flight by the front of his brightly-color suit, dragging him closer so they were face to face.

"_What do you know_?" he hissed, his voice taking on a strange, distorted tone. "_Tell me_!"

"Won't say nothing," the poltergeist choked out.

"Do _not_ try me, spirit," the Shinigami growled, his voice so low Harry had to strain his ears to hear it. "I don't want to cause more trouble for you or your kind, but _do not_ try and play me. _Tell me what you know_."

"You—"

"_Talk_. Or I will _make you_."

"You – you can't – an empty threat," Peeves squeaked out. "For all your power, you're still—"

"I might not be able to kill you, but I _can_ hurt you. It'd take you _decades_ to consolidate yourself once I'm through with you."

Peeves made an odd, choked noise. "You wouldn't dare – you won't – you don't have the—"

"You said it yourself: I defied _Getsuga_. If I'm not scared of _him_, what makes you think I'd be afraid of _you_?"

The poltergeist said nothing.

"That's what I thought."

He released his hold on Peeves' shirt, and the poltergeist flew backward, taking deep, hacking breaths. "…You're a fool," he said between coughs. "A damned fool."

"Tell me something I don't know," the Shinigami grunted. "Now talk."

Peeves glared. "No."

Ichigo became very, very still. "…_What_?"

"You heard me," Peeves repeated, floating back out of reach. "Peevesy won't be telling _you_ nothing."

"You—! _Kisama_!"

His only reply was a long, loud raspberry that faded as Peeves zoomed off down the corridor.

There was a _crunch_ as something impacted stone, followed by a string of words that Harry couldn't understand, but was sure would have earned Ichigo a _Scourgify_ to the mouth if Mrs. Weasley had heard him. "_Damn_ _it_. We were _so close_ to _finally_…" He trailed off with an angry huff. Still grumbling expletives, he walked off, passing Harry's hiding place behind the tapestry and up the staircase.

Harry didn't release his breath until the sound of Ichigo's footsteps had faded away completely. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding it. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. What had _that_ been about? _Godslayer_? What kind of name was _that_? And – and what had Peeves meant by 'Reaper'? Ichigo… he _was_ a wizard, wasn't he? He _had_ to be – what else _could_ he be? Maybe a 'Reaper' was a _kind_ of wizard, like a warlock or a sorcerer. That made sense. But it still didn't answer the question of _how_ had he managed to _touch_ the poltergeist in the first place, never mind actually _catching_ him. And…

He shook his head, doing his best to shove his confusion off to the side for the moment as he resumed his climb of the stairs. There were other things to be doing. But still, the back of his mind buzzed with unanswered questions and insane possibilities.

Merlin, he needed to talk to Hermione. Maybe she could sort this all out.

And if she couldn't, she'd certainly have a better idea of where to start.

-0-

To say Dolores Umbridge was unhappy would have been an understatement.

A _severe_ understatement.

She surveyed the destruction of her office, fuming silently. Everything she had brought with her from the Ministry was utterly destroyed, smashed to pieces by some invisible force. Dumbledore had offered to assist in the clean-up, but she had waved him off, saying she was perfectly capable of doing it herself, thank-you-very-much. And while it was true she would _never_ want to rely on the batty old coot to do her spellwork for her, it was also the case that she wanted to take stock of the damage herself. It would not do, after all, for the headmaster to uncover some of her more… unsavory artifacts.

The headmaster had promised a full investigation, but she did not entertain for a second the thought that he would actually catch the culprit. The destruction of her office had all the hallmarks of a joke gone badly, but it was out of character for the Weasley twins to go after a teacher's office itself. Their style, from what she could gather from listening to the other members of staff, was far less mean-spirited; they tended to set off their pranks in classrooms and hallways, where they could entertain more people. This sort of thing was too vindictive for them; even Snape's office had never been the target of one of their attacks, and their dislike for _him_ was nearly as strong as _Snape's_ dislike for _Potter_.

No, this had not been the work of Hogwarts' resident pranksters. Dumbledore's investigation – if he did one at all – would lean nowhere.

But that was alright. She had a very good idea of who the culprits had been. A _very_ good idea.

There were only two things missing, after all. And only two people in the entire school – apart from herself – knew they even existed. It would be a simple matter to replace them – the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had several of them, locked up and unused – but the fact that they had been stolen at all…

Oh no. The question was not _who_, it was _how_.

The wards that had kept her desk locked had shattered. Not unraveled – that wasn't too uncommon, Curse-Breakers did that for their jobs, after all – but _shattered_. It had not been a freestanding ward, either – it had been anchored to a wardstone, which _should_ have made it impossible to break without serious skill and effort, something she knew neither of the perpetrators possessed. The stone itself had cracked as well, a single, deep fissure marring the rune-engraved surface and rendering it quite entirely _useless._

The loss of the wardstone was particularly aggravating. They were notoriously hard to replace – the odd white stone was incredibly rare, but _very_ good at holding magic. Far better, in fact, than any other material known to wizardkind. It completely absorbed the first spell cast in its vicinity, but had a nasty habit of repelling everything else, which made handling it rather difficult. None of the Ministry's geomancers knew where the stone came from – merely that it could be found in ancient ruins and tombs. The Gringotts goblins were rumored to have a large cache of the stuff, hidden away deep in their vaults… Hm. Perhaps she should send them a 'requisition' notice.

And to top it all off, her plates were smashed. Those things were _collector's items_, for Merlin's sake. It'd taken _years_ to obtain the whole set!

Oh, whoever had broken those would _pay_. _Dearly_. She wondered whether or not she could convince some of the Ministry's experimental potioneers to let her – er, _borrow_ one of their untested products. It would certainly be more informative than testing them on, say, house-elves…

A knock at the remains of her office door broke her out of her revenge-fantasy. She turned around to see Kurosaki standing in the doorway.

"What happened here?" he asked, looking around at the damage with a look of mild surprise.

Umbridge had to bite her tongue to keep from sneering. "Some students thought it would be… _amusing_ to make a mess of my office and make off with some of my belongings," she said. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

Kurosaki raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Anything at all?" she pressed, coming to stand in front of him. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders. "You're absolutely certain?"

His expression remained deliberately neutral. "Yes."

Umbridge made a little noise of disbelief. There were some days when she _really_ wished she were better at the finer points of legilimency. "It's very curious, you see," she continued. "My office wards have been completely broken. Do you happen to know of any spells that can do that, Mr. Kurosaki?"

"No."

She stared at him for a second longer before nodding. "I see," she said, with an air of false lightness. "Well, if you _do_ hear anything, you will of course let me know, won't you?"

"Of course."

"I'm _sure_ you will," Umbridge muttered to herself. Out loud, she asked, "And where is Mr. Potter?"

At this, a look of genuine confusion passed over Kurosaki's face before one brief second more melting back into a disinterested scowl. "I don't know. We were supposed to meet in the Entrance Hall before coming here."

As if on cue, pounding footsteps echoed from the hall and Harry burst into the room, panting heavily. "I'm sorry I'm late, professor, I—" He broke off, staring around at the wreckage. "Um, professor? W-what happened?"

Umbridge gave a disdainful little laugh. "Mr. Kurosaki and I were just discussing it, actually. Someone decided it would be an amusing joke to make a mess of my office and steal some of my belongings. Would you happen to know anything about it, Mr. Potter?"

For a brief second, a look of fear passed over his face and his eyes flickered briefly to Ichigo. Umbridge suppressed a smile, her suspicions confirmed. So, they _had_ done it. That just left the little question of _how_ unanswered…

"N-no," Potter answered shakily. "I – I've no idea, Professor."

She gazed at him for a moment, disbelief written plainly across her face. "Hmm. Very well, then. Now, as you can see," she said, gesturing at the wreckage of her office behind her, "Our normal detentions will not be able to continue tonight."

"Should – should we come back another night, then?" Potter asked, not quite able to keep the hope out of his voice.

Umbridge's lips curled into a sickly-sweet smile. "Oh no, Mr. Potter. Oh no, no, no… this is your punishment, remember. _Your_ task this evening will be to collect everything that's been broken into these—" a wave of her wand and two wooden boxes appeared, "—And catalogue it. Without magic," she added. With a flick of her wand, two pink clipboards, parchment, and quills (normal ones, alas) appeared. "And do be sure to _label_ it all, won't you? Off you go, now."

The two teens took the clipboards with dubious looks, exchanged glances, and set to work.

Dolores watched them for several moments before conjuring a plush chair for herself and settling down to read the report from the Minister that had arrived with the evening post. She smiled as she flipped through the first several pages – apparently, Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three was coming along quite nicely, although a few senior members of the Wizengamot were making noise about it. She made a mental note to review Madame Marchbanks' most recent voting record – she was certain the Wizengamot Elder had voted in favor of a goblin caught in possession of a wand a few years ago. Perhaps… Yes, that would do nicely. It didn't matter that the goblin in question had only been holding the wand in the first place because the wand's owner had wanted it put in a safety deposit box – no one would remember that particular detail, and if anyone tried to bring it up… well, that was a problem easily dealt with. A little word here, a little word there, and that journalist's career would be over faster than you could say _Evanesco_.

It really _was_ wonderful to have the _Prophet_ so closely connected to the Ministry. Cornelius' creation of the Department of Magical Media Management had truly been inspired.

The second part of the report, however, gave her pause. The Department of International Magical Cooperation had finally gotten around to translating Kurosaki's school records… and had come up with essentially nothing. Oh, there were a few things, to be sure – apparently, the boy was reasonably good at history, and very bad at something called kidou (whatever _that_ was) – but otherwise very little. It seemed, according to one of departmental undersecretaries, that someone had gone to the trouble of encoding most of the papers, and it was rather difficult to crack without a key or counterspell. They weren't certain why this was the case, but put it down to the usual secrecy that existed between the various wizarding schools; it was not uncommon for foreign schools to go to great lengths to hide themselves from the others – Durmstrang, for instance, refused to divulge even what _country_ it was in – and the same applied to the students. It was not the encoding itself that was the issue, it was the lack of corresponding key.

Fortunately, that was problem quickly and easily remedied. The Department had initially assumed 'Shinou Academy' to be some sort of subsidiary to the renowned Mahoutokoro, and had sent request for the decoding spell accordingly. They'd received a very surprised note from the deputy headmaster in reply, stating that there was no such person as Ichigo Kurosaki enrolled, no such school existed (to their knowledge), and that furthermore none of their students had studied abroad in nearly fifty years.

Any and all attempts to find some trace of Shinou Academy had fallen flat. While the Department's files on non-European and old colonial wizarding schools were fairly slim, all magical academies and institutions were required to register with the International Confederation of Wizards. It helped to standardize what was taught, as part of a move to try and keep the worst bits of the Dark Arts from being widely known. That Shinou Academy didn't appear in the I.C.W. records was troubling – while registered schools were by and large prevented from teaching students some of the fouler aspects of magic, unchartered ones had no such limitations.

Umbridge seriously doubted Kurosaki was a Dark wizard. The brat had been sorted into Gryffindor, and theirs was a house not well-known for its dark tendencies. Besides, he didn't have the temperament – he was far too noble-minded and brash for it.

But if he _was_ well-informed on Dark Magic, it would no doubt put a damper on her plans. No one was better at spotting – and identifying – Dark spells than those with detailed knowledge of them. If he brought her before the Board of Governors… She shook her head and dismissed the thought. Though Lucius Malfoy might no longer be a member of the Board himself, he still had enough influence over them to keep her at her post. Nor would the Minister allow her to be removed from the valuable position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Still… The lack of any record of Shinou Academy – even anecdotal evidence – was strange. It was like Kurosaki had simply… appeared out of nowhere.

Umbridge closed the report, mulling over its contents. Curious. She glanced up at the two students, still sorting the fragments of her precious kitten plates into boxes. They had both rolled up their sleeves, so as to make the long, tedious process of sorting tiny ceramic fragments easier. A flash of white caught her eye, and she blinked in surprise. The bracelets on Kurosaki's wrists looked to be made of the same material as the now-useless wardstone. It was hard to say for certain, or course, but still… even a fragment the size of her little fingernail was worth several dozen times its weight in gold. Where – and _how_ – would a _student_ have gotten a hold of so much of it?

Her lips curled into a sneer. Curious, indeed.

_Just what are you hiding, Mr. Kurosaki?_

-0-

The rumbling thunder had long since faded as Ichigo and Harry worked late into the night. Harry glanced blearily at his watch – while sorting through innumerable pieces of broken ceramic was infinitely better than their usual detentions with Umbridge, it was still rather tiring to spend several hours on end hunched over a clipboard handling sharp bits of shattered porcelain. Already past midnight. He hoped the toad would let them go soon; Angelina would no doubt want him to be up bright and early for Quidditch practice with the new Keeper the next morning. As it was, he was already having trouble keeping his eyes open long enough to—

Searing pain flashed across his scar. Harry vaguely registered the sound of something breaking, but he couldn't tell what it was. It felt like his head was going to burst, and he wanted to scream, to shout in agony, but instead he was…

_Happy? What…_

"Harry!"

His head jerked, and immediately Harry felt himself return to his senses. The pain in his scar had dulled now, a low throbbing in the background, easily ignorable. Not so ignorable was the distinct feeling of elation – _that was most definitely not his_ – he'd just experienced. His heart pounded madly. What in Merlin's name had _that_ been?

"W-what?" he asked shakily.

Ichigo's eyebrows creased in concern. "Are you alright?"

"I…" Harry's eyes flicked to Umbridge, who was watching them with narrowed eyes. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're bleeding again, for one thing."

Harry glanced down at his hand – the plate piece he'd been holding had broken, one of the shards lodging itself deep in his palm. The plate's furry occupant – a particularly awful brown tabby in a blue bow – hissed at him. "Oh."

Ichigo shook his head exasperatedly, but before he could open his mouth to reply, Umbridge cut in sweetly, "Is something the matter, Mr. Potter?"

"Potter's cut his hand on one of the plates," Ichigo answered swiftly. "It's pretty bad. I should take him to the Hospital Wing."

She held out her hand. "Let me see." Reluctantly, Harry presented his own, shuddering at the feel of her stubby fingers. "Hmm. I suppose that _is_ enough for tonight," she conceded after a moment. "You may go. And Mr. Kurosaki, _do_ be sure to return on Monday. Five o'clock, remember."

He grunted in her general direction before scooping up their discarded bags and departing. As soon as they were out of earshot, Ichigo turned to Harry. "What happened?"

The dark-haired teenager shrugged. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure himself. "I… I dunno," he said uncertainly. "My scar hurt, and then…" He trailed off, not quite sure how to explain it.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue.

Harry grimaced. "…It was weird. I felt so _happy_, but it wasn't… _I_ wasn't… It wasn't _my_ happiness. Does that make any sense?"

The Shinigami nodded slowly. "…I _thought_ maybe that was the case, but I'd still _hoped_…"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked fearfully, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Ichigo paused on the stairsteps, regarding him with a speculating gaze. "Feeling someone else's emotions usually isn't a good thing. But if you _are_, then…"

"Then _what_?"

Ichigo shook his head distractedly. "…I don't you to worry if it turns out to be nothing."

"It's a little late for that," Harry muttered.

The Shinigami gave him an apologetic smile. "I'll let you know the minute _I_ know anything. Deal?"

"…I guess."

They continued on in silence. The Fat Lady was sleeping soundly in her portrait when they arrived at the seventh floor; it took several minutes of prodding at the frame for her to wake up enough to swing forward and let them in to the Common Room… where they were immediately greeted by a loud roar of sound. There must have been some sort of party going on, for the walls and armchairs were festooned with confetti and colorful banners. Ichigo ducked under the streamers draped over the door and walked over to Hermione sitting in the corner, hunched over a very thick, dusty book. Harry made to follow, but before he could Ron bounded over, hair plastered to his face and robes sopping wet, but grinning wildly like he'd just won the lottery.

"Harry! Harry, I made it, I'm Keeper!"

Harry tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "Oh – brilliant, congratulations, Ron."

Ron was beaming as he shoved a bottle into Harry's hands. "Here, have a butterbeer – I can't believe it – I mean, _me! _You should've _seen_ the look on Fred and George's faces when—"

"That's enough, little brother," Fred said irritably, emerging from the crowd.

"No need to go telling him _that_," agreed George.

"We get it—"

"—We were wrong—"

"—Now will you _stop_ reminding us?" they finished heatedly. Still, they could not quite keep the happy smiles off their faces.

Ron pouted. The three of them were saved his tirade by the timely intervention Katie Bell, one of the Chasers, calling Ron over to try on his new uniform.

Fred rolled his eyes as Ron walked off, practically bouncing on his heels. "Honestly, he's gotten so full of himself—"

"—Rather annoying, it is."

"Oh, give it a break," Harry said tiredly. "He just made the Quidditch team. He's got every right to be happy."

The twins exchanged glances. "Well, of course he does—"

"—And really, it's not like we're not _proud_ of him, or anything—"

"—It's just, he doesn't need to keep going _on_ about it—"

"—_Especially_ in front of us."

"Right embarrassing, it is."

Harry rolled his eyes.

The expression on their faces turned serious. "How'd your little escapade this afternoon go?"

"We got them," Harry answered. As though suddenly remembering something, he dug around in his bag for a moment before extracting the brown cylinder. "I reckon this is yours."

"Ah, our prototype," George said gleefully, taking it from him. "We thought we'd lost it. Thanks, Harry."

"Not a problem. What is it, anyway?"

Fred grinned. "Ah, this was a bit of a surprise, actually—"

"—We've been thinking about branching out into other areas, you know—"

"—Other than strictly joke items, that is—"

"—We're thinking of making some fireworks, you know—"

"—A couple Roman candles, some sparklers, Catherine Wheels, that sort of thing—"

"—_Explosive Enterprises_, we're thinking of calling it—"

"—And one of the compounds didn't mix like we thought it would—"

"—Didn't ignite at all—"

"—But it _did_ make one hell of a smell."

"Mum thought something'd gone wrong with the ghoul in the attic—"

"—She kept owling Charlie to see if he would come and have a look at it—"

"—Didn't seem to quite understand that he worked with _dragons_, not _ghouls_—"

"—But that's Mum for you," they finished fondly.

"Anyway, thanks for returning this," Fred said. "We'll see you tomorrow, yeah? Angelina says practice is at noon!" And they sauntered off towards Lee Jordan, who was entertaining a crowd of first-years by juggling empty butterbeer bottles.

Harry smiled and moved over to sit by Hermione. She looked up at his approach, shoving several books aside to make room at the small table.

"Oh – Harry, have a seat. I've been doing some reading on wizarding law – good about Ron, isn't it?" she said distractedly. "Anyway – how'd it go this afternoon? Ichigo said you'd gotten the quills but…"

"It went… fine. Where is he, by the way?" Harry asked, glancing around the Common Room. The distinctive head of orange hair was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione shrugged, suppressing a yawn. "Said he was going to go write a letter. I asked why it couldn't wait until morning, but he didn't say…"

"Good," he said quietly. "Listen – there's something I wanted to ask you about…" And he told her about the break-in of Umbridge's office, the explosion of power that had shattered the wards, the feeling of irresistible _helplessness_ that had accompanied it, and the overheard conversation with Peeves the Poltergeist – who maybe wasn't even a poltergeist at all.

Hermione was biting her lip worriedly by the end. "You said… he didn't use a spell or anything? But…" she trailed off uncertainly. "…Yes, I suppose that would make sense," she muttered to herself, staring blankly out the window at the dark grounds.

"What makes sense?"

She jumped, startled out of her reverie. "I – earlier today… You remember on Tuesday, when he smashed that desk in Charms? And how afterwards he wasn't at all worried about having overloaded it?"

Harry nodded. It was a bit difficult to forget _that_ incident, especially when stories about it were still cycling through the school's rumor mill.

"Well, in the courtyard today, he and I were talking about those awful quills of hers," she continued. "He said he'd been trying to _overwhelm_ the curse on them. Do you know how _difficult_ that would be to do?" At Harry's blank look, she continued, "It's _impossible_. Or it's supposed to be, anyway. Raw magic is supposed to be impossible to work with on any sort of scale, even Dumbledore can't – but if he's been manipulating it so easily, then maybe that's what he used to break down the wards."

Harry frowned, thinking. "It didn't feel anything like magic," he said after a moment. "Not at all like the _Priori Incantatem_ last year, or like using that Time-Turner of yours. It was more like…" he struggled to find the appropriate words for several seconds. "I don't know what it was," he admitted at last. "But it wasn't magic, I know that much."

"If you're sure," Hermione conceded.

"I am." He hesitated for a moment before plowing on. "D'you have any idea what Peeves meant? It was like they knew each other…"

"I haven't the foggiest," she confessed, looking thoroughly disturbed by this fact. "The library is a bit… unforthcoming about the subject, but none of the books I've read on daemonology ever mention a demon specifically _of_ the moon. Lots of ones who have links to it, but…" She bit her lip. "If we had a _name_…"

Harry's mind drifted back. The name he'd heard in the hallway that afternoon had stirred a memory – one of a darkened alleyway on a summer night long past, of unseasonable cold, an arc of inexplicably dark light that had killed the unkillable… yes, it was certainly hellish enough to belong to a demon.

"…Getsuga," he said quietly. The name felt odd on his tongue, but at the same time inexplicably _right_. He looked at Hermione. "I – I _think_ that's what Ichigo called it."

She frowned, wracking her brains for any tug of familiarity, but there was none. She shook her head.

"Well, what about the other things? You've any idea what a 'Reaper' is? I was thinking… maybe it's a _kind_ of wizard, like a warlock or a sorcerer, or something."

She shook her head again. "Warlocks and sorcerers get those titles from academic achievements – warlocks have a mastery of Defense Against the Dark Arts, for example. I've never heard of a 'reaper' before." She grimaced. "Well, aside from the obvious, but nothing that's actually _real_."

"What d'you—"

"I mean the _grim_ reaper, Harry. But that's just old Muggle superstition – it doesn't _actually_ exist. Even _Muggles_ don't believe in it now."

Harry tilted his head to the side pensively. "Well, Muggles _also_ think unicorns are a myth, don't they?"

She let out a disdainful little snort. "I think if it _did_ exist, there'd be a mention of it _somewhere_ in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ or _The Monster Book of Monsters_ or in _Encyclopaedia Magifauna._ A skeletal figure wielding a scythe who goes around _killing_ _people_ is a bit hard to ignore. Besides, even if it _were_ real, we've all been around Ichigo for months now, and none of us has died yet."

He nodded, allowing the point.

The clock in the corner chimed. The party was starting to wind down, now – the first years had all been shuffled off to bed, and most of the older students looked tired as well.

Harry yawned widely and stood. "I think I'll head to bed. Tell Ron for me, will you?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course. I'll be up a bit longer, I think," she said, suppressing a yawn of her own. She gestured to the open book on the table in front of her. "I'd like to finish this before turning in… did you know that in Norway it's illegal to tether a hippogriff to an oak tree on Sundays?"

"No," Harry answered. "'Night, Hermione." He left her to her studies, traipsing up the spiraling staircase to the fifth-year boys' dormitory. Neville's quiet snores could be heard from behind the curtains around his bed. Harry didn't bother to remove his clothes, only pausing to kick off his shoes before flopping unceremoniously down on the mattress. He lay there for several long moments, mulling over the most recent events, trying to make heads or tails of any of it. For once, talking to Hermione had only made him _more_ confused than he'd been before. He'd write to Sirius in the morning – his godfather always seemed a good person to turn to. Maybe _he_ could make sense of it all.

With that in mind, he tugged the covers over his head and fell asleep.

-0-

Far to the south, two figures sat camped on a hill over a crackling fire. The lights of some large city twinkled in the distance; the light of the moon illuminated a large sign that read:

_LONDON – 47 MILES  
__LITTLE WHINGING – 5 MILES_

One of the figures looked up. "Sir?"

The other frowned in annoyance. "How _many_ times, Alex? How many? I keep telling you, call me Jack. None of this 'sir' nonsense."

"This makes two hundred and forty-seven times this year, sir."

The one called 'Jack' sighed. "How the bloody hell did you end up with us again? You should've gone off to Miriam's lot. You'd fit right in with all them uptight bastards."

"…_You_ selected _me_, sir."

"Oh, yeah. Huh. Forgot about that."

'Alex' grimaced at his superior's attitude. "Sir, how much longer are we supposed to wait? We've searched this area five times already. He's not here."

"I'm surprised at you, Alex," Jack scolded. "_You_ of all people should know we've got orders to follow. Until we hear otherwise, we're staying put." He settled back against a rock, arms folded and hood pulled low, covering his eyes. "Now I'm going to get some sleep. We've got another patrol tomorrow morning, so I suggest you do the same. The shields'll hold up 'til then."

"But sir—"

"Not now, Alex. I'm sleeping."

"…Yes sir."

Several minutes passed, the silence of the campsite only disturbed by the crackling of the fire and the chirping of crickets in the fields. Without warning, the fire roared and flared; Alex scrambled to his feet, hand grasping for the hilt of the sword sheathed at his waist and looking around frantically for an intruder, fearful one of their barrier spells had been broken – but the hillside was just as quiet and peaceful as it had been all night. He turned his attention back to the fire, and slowly, a figure appeared in the smoke, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently on some invisible floor.

The figure opened its mouth and spoke, the words echoing as though speaking in some great, empty chamber. "Sir Jonathan? Can ye 'ear me? Dammit Jack, where are ye?"

"Hold onto your horses, Bob, I'm here," Jack mumbled sleepily. He cracked open an eye and yawned, regarding the hazy shape of Bob with some degree of annoyance. "What can I do for you this fine evening?"

"I got orders from the boss," Bob said sharply.

Immediately, all traces of tiredness vanished from Jack's face. "What happened?"

Bob shrugged. "'Ard tae say. We been gettin' odd reports – one o' Ariana's scouts said there's bin sum odd activity up in th' 'ighlands."

"There's _always_ 'odd activity' up in the highlands," Jack said dryly.

Bob grinned. "Aye, but thes 'un's apparently even _odder_ than th' usual, if'n ye can believe tha'."

Jack was silent for a moment. "You reckon it's him?"

"Migh' be, migh' no' be. Either way, we're goin' tae find out," Bob replied. "We're tae meet Missie Abigail in Edinburgh an' 'ead North from there."

"Understood. Was there anything else?"

"Naw. Boss jist said tae 'urry yer lazy bum up, an' tae no' dilly dally 'round in London again. Especially when ye _know_ th' ladies 'round Piccadilly cannae even see ye anyhow."

"Love you too, Boss," Jack muttered. He shook his head. "Alright. We'll head out now. We'll be there in about – oh, five days, if Alex here doesn't slow us down too much." He grinned over at the younger man, slapping him heartily on the back. "Reckon you can keep up, kiddo?"

Alex huffed at his superior and turned to Bob in the fire. "We will arrive in four days, Sir Robert."

Bob smiled. "Well said, Alexander. Well said indeed. We'll be expectin' ye, then. Godspeed, lads."

"Safe travels, mate."

Bob's figure dissipated in a flurry of sparks, the fire fading down to little more than embers. Within moments, however, even those were gone, the ashes doused with water and scattered to the four winds.

Jack cast one last, cursory glance around their former campsite. There was no sign that anyone had ever been there, save for the footprints in the dust and lingering smell of smoke in the air. He turned to his companion; Alexander stood nervously at attention, his expression a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

"Let's go."

* * *

_Useful translations:_

_kisama: a rude way of saying 'you'. Less respectful that 'teme'._

_ikariyou - from 錨 + 要; lit. anchor key_

* * *

_Greetings to you all!_

_A THOUSAND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ/REVIEWED! Special thanks to mist shadow, Zarosian Chaos, Obiki Doragon, Ri696q, Violet Shadows, Basia Orci, Midnayuki, ladyyuuki16, Ciekawa Osoba, moonlightrurouni, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover, Octol, Shirosaki-Yuki, MisplacedSanity, Jiyle, SeanHicks4, Slayer End, 10th Squad 3rd Seat, Mesonoxian, ephemeral violet, Blinded in a bolthole, Furionknight, Victoriousvillian, CrossoverxToxThexDarkxSide, MeltedsnowFlake, Merkwerkee, StrawberriesAndCinnamonJAM, weee, Upsilon Forty-Two, arandomreviewer, PikaSilver-Moon, KaTyXLoves, Yuu-chi, KitElizaKing, xxserafinxx, raven angel of dispair, phoenixyfriend, sama-chan, Loella, mauraluxky6, Tsume28, Symbol of forever, reality deviant, georgina3101, A lilmatchgirl, asredwer,xXSweetestXAngelXNightmareXx , Hebi R, CrimsonKitsune333, Masked Bard of Chaos, Sypher14, anon, Kuroi Kokoro 09, Linnorria, Kenkyo-kun, me, TheMysticalFett, fancyfairy, Dyani91, HarryPotterForLife7, erindolphin91, LightDarkandChaos, Fantasy's Reflection, Dragonshinigami 5, Autobot traitor, Sleeping World (x2), Senator-X, ichilun, hydrianway1013, gimmefood, Memory Wolf, Mistress Zhou, Flower in the River, SaphiraEragon, mysticmoon1331, Love Psycho (x2), hello goodbye my spider fly, otodog, Jigoku no Yami, Alliyieh, Magic Kirby, Maverick14th, HappyFestus (x2), Ixcall it karma, Strawberryfunsized (x2), The Dark Leviathan, MusicalMuse, dwelian, SkywalkerT-65, Rizaidym (x2), scorpioneldar (x2), Black Firelight, Morte Cacciatora, Ruby Silken Sun, Caitriona695, SoI'llKillYou, reuben*w, fokker333, Cynthia the white wolf, Deeply Creepy, Darkbolt1, Higitsune, Kylip, and M for your lovely reviews! You all have my deepest thanks._

_This chapter was _supposed_ to come out in late February. It is now nearly two months after that, and for that you have my apologies. __In my defense, this chapter ended up about twice the length I had originally planned. And with a_ lot_ more hints to Ichigo's backstory than I thought there would be (what do you call that, pastshadowing? Whatever the opposite of foreshadowing is). So there's that at least._

_That means the chapter is bound to raise a lot of questions, not all of which I will answer here. But for the sake of clarity, Peeves is not a poltergeist - or rather, 'poltergeists' in general do not exactly fit the traditional model of trouble-causing spirits. It's a bit more complicated than that._

_With regards to the next update, I can safely say it will not be until _at least_ July. I'm doing a summer study abroad overseas this year that will last from May to about mid-June, and after that I'll be visiting some relatives in Europe. It will be a lot of fun, but the countries where I'll be going do not exactly have fantastic internet service. From what I understand, the only WiFi hotspots in the city where we'll be staying are the McDonalds and the local pancake house, though that may be an exaggeration. Again, my apologies - I would love to have faster updates as much as (I presume) you readers do - but it's unavoidable._

_As always, please follow the little blue link if you wish to leave a comment. Love it, hate it, or think it should burn in hell, let me know._

_Much love and so long for now,  
Nesarna  
4/22/12_

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_PS. A plate of cookies goes out to Linnorria for being the 900th reviewer! Thank you and enjoy!_

* * *

_PPS. This story reached the 200,000 hits mark last chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read, and I can only pray you continue to enjoy it into the foreseeable future._

* * *

_PPPS. Also, an entire cake goes out to PeppermintWinds, who recommended this fic on TV Tropes. I've no idea if you'll ever read this, but THANK YOU! It was quite a surprise to be scrolling through the fanfic recs pages and suddenly stumble across mine. Seriously, it made my week._


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